


On This the Day

by vega_voices



Series: You Are Like That, [4]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Boreth, Cardassian Occupation of Bajor, Day of Honor, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Gen, Growing Up, Klingons, Season 4 Episode 3, occupation trauma, small hints of sexual assault (nothing graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26204659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: “Today …” she stared at a point into all of the years past, the years since leaving Boreth that she’d ignored her traditions, the day on Boreth when she’d stared into the time crystal, her first Day of Honor in the monastery, the night she’d kissed Kejal, the ritual on the homeworld, the night she’d run away, the night she’d stayed out in her treehouse rather than deal with her mother, the day her father left, the day abuela Paola died, the last time she’d had abuela’s banana pancakes, the Day of Honor she’d been sick, the day she’d ruined everything by getting back at the kids for making fun of her. All of those Days of Honor would culminate here, out in space, tethered to a man she was too scared to tell she loved. “... the Day of Honor …” she said out loud, realizing he was still waiting for her to talk, “is the day that I’m going to die.”
Relationships: Tom Paris/B'Elanna Torres
Series: You Are Like That, [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861696
Comments: 55
Kudos: 16





	1. 1.

**Title:** On This the Day  
**Author:** vegawriters  
**Series:** You Are Like that,  
**Fandom:** Star Trek: Voyager  
**Pairing:** B’Elanna Torres/Tom Paris  
**Rating:** Teen  
**Timeframe:** Day of Honor  
**A/N:** So … the great Voyager inconsistency: when did B’Elanna’s father leave? In Faces, she was five. In Lineage, she appears to be about 12. I’m putting it in the middle here at about ten. Also, it’s been reasonably established that Klingon children mature faster than human ones, so age with B’Elanna can be a bit relative. Take it as you will.  
**Disclaimer:** All respect given to Jeri Taylor for an interesting episode concept and to writing a pretty great episode. Some respect given to Michael Jan Friedman for his not-so-interesting novelization. They did the thing and they got the money. I make nothing for …. expanding on it. ;) I mean, if his version hadn’t been so bland, I wouldn’t have written this so … Also, please check out books by Tess Gallagher and Becky Chambers. Support these amazing authors.

 **Summary:** _“Today …” she stared at a point into all of the years past, the years since leaving Boreth that she’d ignored her traditions, the day on Boreth when she’d stared into the time crystal, her first Day of Honor in the monastery, the night she’d kissed Kejal, the ritual on the homeworld, the night she’d run away, the night she’d stayed out in her treehouse rather than deal with her mother, the day her father left, the day abuela Paola died, the last time she’d had abuela’s banana pancakes, the Day of Honor she’d been sick, the day she’d ruined everything by getting back at the kids for making fun of her. All of those Days of Honor would culminate here, out in space, tethered to a man she was too scared to tell she loved. “... the Day of Honor …” she said out loud, realizing he was still waiting for her to talk, “is the day that I’m going to die.”_

_Just when I think the Buddhists  
are wrong and life is not mostly suffering,  
I find a dead Finch in the feeder.  
How sullen, how free of regret, this death  
that sinks worlds. I bury her near  
the bicycle shed and return to care for  
my aged mother, whose suffering  
is such oxygen we do not consider it,  
meaning life at any point exceeds  
the price. A little more. A little more. _  
From: Not a Sparrow (Tess Gallagher)

**Kessik IV, 2354**

“Listen!” 

Hands on hips, brown eyes flashing with frustration, B’Elanna demanded attention from two parents who, it was obvious, had better things to do than pay attention to their five-year-old child. A child who, because of her Klingon DNA, matured faster than the other children, but who stumbled more, tripping over herself as her body grew in strange and painful ways. Growing pains for a child whose bones were knitted together by DNA strands that, until 200 years ago, had never met and yet were part of the same explosion in the universe, well, often felt like the biggest bang themselves. No one understood that sometimes, her head hurt and her legs hurt and her arms hurt. And she couldn’t tell them why. Right now she was hurting and no one would listen. No one cared. 

“Listen!” B’Elanna demanded again, standing in the backyard of the house on Kessick IV, next to the pile of leaves she’d just jumped into. Both her parents shushed her. It was abuela Paola who walked over, finally, brushing flour from her hands. She smelled of bananas and sugar. 

“What am I listening to, B’Elanna?” abuela asked as she knelt down in front of her. “What do you have to tell me?”

Sulking, she stared past her abuela, to her parents who were staring at each other with mean looks on their faces and she shrank back as her father cursed a word in Spanish that B’Elanna wasn’t supposed to know about yet and stormed back into the house. Her mother punched the table and the bowl with the flour and sugar spilled. 

“Today is the Day of Honor!” Her mother called after her father. “She should celebrate with more than pancakes!” 

“It doesn’t matter,” B’Elanna pouted. “What’s the Day of Honor?” 

Abuela looked over her shoulder and then back at B’Elanna. “It is a day that means something to your mother, but I will let her explain.” 

B’Elanna didn’t want an explanation. She wanted her parents to pay attention to her. She had planned to tell them that she found a way to make the rope ladder to her tree house not so scary to climb. Right now she would get onto the ladder and it would sway back and forth and she didn’t like that and she’d fallen last week when climbing down but no one knew because her parents had been fighting again and abuela wasn’t there yet. She’d washed her hands by herself and put ice on her knee and climbed the tree again. She’d found places on the trunk where it was easy to tie a ribbon to the rope and now it was more sturdy and she could change it if she wanted to later. And why was the Day of Honor something that mattered to her mother and not her father? Why didn’t they celebrate things together? And did she get presents? 

But now abuela looked upset at her mother and the spilled flour and B’Elanna shrunk back just a bit from the look on her grandmother’s face. Her father got that look whenever B’Elanna broke something or her mother yelled in Klingon. Abuela Paola sighed and stood, moving over to clean up the mess. B’Elanna tugged on her rope ladder to ensure it was safe and climbed up, higher than any of the human kids ever got to climb because she was already so much faster and stronger than them. They didn’t like her because of it. They told her so. 

Up in her treehouse, B’Elanna huffed down onto the beanbag her father had left for her when he built the treehouse. Toby waited, always forgiving, and she cuddled the stuffed targ close. If she screamed, would anyone hear? Would anyone come looking? Or would she just be having a tantrum again, as abuela said sometimes. SoSnI' L’Naan, before she went to Sto-vo-kor, she said that having a tantrum was an honorable thing. She said tantrums were about expressing passion and emotion. But Abuela Paola said that tantrums were only good sometimes and that it was better to learn to control. B’Elanna didn’t understand. She just wanted her parents to see her rope ladder. 

Still angry, she got up and walked over to the pack where she kept her snacks and her PADD for drawing and her building blocks. She grabbed the building blocks and her PADD and the dried mangos and huffed back down. The first icon on her PADD was the design for a new treehouse, one that could climb up and up and still be strong and she wasn’t sure it would work but daddy was too busy to look at her drawings and ever since SoSnl’ L’Naan went to Sto-vo-kor, mommy was more focused on her learning how to hold daggers the right way and B’Elanna didn’t want to be a warrior! She wanted to build things. Chewing on her mangoes, she opened up the PADD, looked at the drawing, and started putting the blocks into the spaces that seemed to make sense for a treehouse. 

No one came looking. 

****

**USS Voyager, 2375  
Delta Quadrant**

The holoprogram was almost perfect, save really for the location, but B’Elanna wasn’t about to adjust the caverns Tom had researched just to make them match up to the one Day of Honor ceremony she’d ever truly participated in. They’d gone with her vague memories from the ceremony she’d watched on the homeworld, and the holodeck didn’t have the right specifications for the Monastery at Boreth or the face of the monk who had met her at the doors to the caverns, challenging her not with painstiks but with the very knowledge of time. Sometimes, she still wondered if she’d dreamed the whole thing. 

__

_Your challenges are different, Young B’Elanna Torres. You know more than most, that the mind of a warrior is not that which wields a weapon but that which builds the empire._

Yeah, it was great and all to have a reclusive monk tell her that, but the rest of Klingon culture seemed to think the only way to live an honorable life was to pillage and maim and kill through the quadrant and maybe she needed to force herself to explore that side of her people before she ever made sense of that ceremony back on Boreth. It had been almost fifteen years and she was still trying to understand what had happened that day. Yeah, she’d stick to painstiks and targ hearts. 

“Remind me,” B’Elanna said as she tossed the PADD onto the floor, “that I only care about Klingon sentimentality once a year.” She poked at the cold pizza between them and wrinkled her nose. 

“The program is pretty good, though,” Tom said as he reached for the pizza and pulled off a small bite. Again, B’Elanna wrinkled her nose. “I mean, if you like hearts of Targ and all that stuff.”

“I don’t,” she sighed. “I really don’t. Pancakes and strawberries for my dual stomachs, please.” 

Tom looked like he was going to say something but stopped and B’Elanna was glad for it. All of this walking back through Klingon ritual made her nervous for reasons she didn’t want to get into and it still worried her that his personal interest in her Klingon heritage was more for his benefit than hers. He pushed the plate out of the way and leaned up on his elbow, looking down at her, and not for the first time in his presence, her heart stopped and then fluttered. 

“Thank you … by the way. I know I haven’t been really …”

“Receptive? Consenting at times?”

She laughed a bit. “This Klingon stuff is so hard for me sometimes.” Involuntarily, her fingers went to her ridges. She still had dreams about the time she’d been abducted by the Vidiians, about her Klingon DNA not reasserting herself, and always in them, her father came back and loved her and her mother stopped trying to pressure her to be something she could never be.  


A very loud part of her was so insulted by the entire thought process, but the longer she went without any Klingon contact to roll her eyes at, the longer she spent with humans who just brushed off her moods as “the Klingon temper” the more she wanted to find a way to assert all sides of herself. To finally understand herself. As that whole experience had taught her three years ago, she needed both parts of herself to survive. 

Too bad the Klingons didn’t see battling personal demons as a way to enter Sto-vo-kor and humans were more about collective peace and calm than expression. 

Tom caught her hand and linked their fingers and she could see a question on his lips but instead of letting him ask it, she pulled him down into a kiss. Just sweet enough to be tender, just forceful enough that when she nipped his lip, he growled, and her body just reacted. It wasn’t until his hand was inside her shirt that she realized this was moving faster than she was sure she was ready for, but his fingers were working her nipple and he was settling on top of her and oh Kahless his mouth on her neck was everything she wanted from him. Everything. 

But what if admitting what she wanted ruined everything? Yes, there was something real between them, but what happened when they broke up and she had to live with him for the next fifty years while he fell in love with someone else or what happened when there was an explosion on the bridge or a shuttle went down and … God, could he please keep pushing against her like that because she could feel his want and she shared it.

Eleven years ago, she’d stared into a concept she still didn’t understand. She’d seen blue eyes and hope and pain and what if everything she’d experienced that day had been real? What if she opened her heart to this dream and then lost it all? 

Would he please stop making her body feel like this? 

“B’Elanna …” he murmured against her pulse point. His teeth bit softly and she whimpered. “What are we doing here?”

__

_We’re about to rip each other’s clothes off,_ she wanted to snark. Instead, she caught her breath and met his eyes. Gently, she traced her finger down his cheek and it took every ounce of self control to move her legs from around his hips. “I’m not ready, Tom,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.” 

He only cleared his throat and bent to kiss her neck again. “What are you ready for?” She could feel him trying to reclaim his breathing and steady his body. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he suckled the spot on her neck, as his hand moved slowly away from her breast and down to rest at her side. Giving her space to figure it out. If only she could find it in her to tell him the truth about the last Day of Honor she’d celebrated. But how did she take him past his general interest in Klingon culture to the realities of what she’d experienced on Boreth when even she didn’t really understand it? 

B’Elanna turned and captured his lips again, the kiss gentle. “Maybe keeping it just like this,” she murmured, not sure if she meant physically or emotionally. But when she closed her eyes again, all she saw was her mother’s face the day her father left, the look in her eyes as she’d tossed the wedding ring into the fireplace. _Humans will leave, B’Elanna. Remember that._

The mood broken, she let Tom roll over and catch his breath. Her own body hummed with unresolved desire and she could see Tom trying to maintain some kind of dignity. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I don’t …I don’t know why this is so hard for me ...”

“Hey,” he turned back to her and caught her hands in his own. “Never apologize for setting boundaries, okay? If it’s gonna happen, it’s gonna happen when you’re ready. I’d rather sprawl out on the floor forever just reading and setting up holoprograms than have a night you regret and then you never want to be around me again.” 

She looked at their hands and nodded. “Thank you.” 

This guy was the flyboy with the reputation. This guy, who flirted with all of the women - and most of the men- on the ship. Who slept his way through most of the bars in the alpha quadrant - if you believed the stories. This son of an Admiral, who was used to getting the world handed to him, was nothing like what everyone thought. But what if her mother was right? What if he was just like all humans and he left? What would she do then? 

“I should go,” he said. “I mean ... you seem uncomfortable.” 

She was, but not for the reasons he clearly thought. But B’Elanna didn’t know how to say otherwise. “It is late,” came her awkward reply, “and we’ve got senior staff in the morning …” 

He nodded and stood up and she appreciated how discreetly he worked to smooth down his pants. “I’ll see you then,” he said, looking down at her. She offered a nervous smile and watched him walk out the door. 

_Kahless_ , she cursed at herself, _you’re an idiot. Tenavik called you on it when you were fifteen and you’re still running away from your father, your mother, your history, and the future that could be yours._ She stared at the PADD with the holoprogram. _You’re a coward, B’Elanna Torres. You aren’t worthy of Kahless._


	2. 2

**Kessik IV, 2355**

“B’Elanna is one of our brightest students,” Mrs. Malvin was saying. “She’s just light years ahead of the other students in math and computing skills. She’s got a fantastic grasp of early engineering concepts. She’s an incredibly strong reader as well.” 

Everyone in the room could feel the “but” coming and no one would care that Daniel Byrd called her Ugly Turtle-Head and put worms in her salad. No one would care that Suzie Plaxton pulled on her hair and made fun of her when she cried. All anyone cared about was that she’d kicked Suzie in the shins and made the gyro-swing spin Daniel right into the mud and she’d started hitting him like he hurt her and because of this, she wasn’t going to get the celebration mommy promised tonight. _It is time you learn about the Day of Honor, Lanna. It is time you learned at least some of our traditions._ B’Elanna didn’t care about traditions but she did like cookies and mommy had promised her cookies. 

“But, honestly, Mrs. Torres, Mr. Torres, B’Elanna’s temper is a problem. She’s just mean to the other kids.” 

“They’re mean to me!” B’Elanna interjected. Her father shushed her. Her mother’s expression of anger was at least directed at Mrs. Malvin. 

“B’Elanna,” her mother said, taking her face in her hand and making her look at her. “What do the kids say and do to you?”

“They call me names and put worms in my food and they tell me that I’m not a real Klingon even though they don’t know what a real Klingon is and they want to know where my bat’leth is and why I like to read when all Klingons want to do is fight and I hate it.” 

Silence. B’Elanna wrenched her face away. Her mother tensed. Her father rolled his eyes. She shrank in on herself, knowing what would come next. What always came next. 

“B’Elanna, you are just so sensitive,” her father lectured, “you can’t let those kids get the best of you.” 

But she just stared at Mrs. Malvin, who was old and not nice and whose white hair was always perfect and who had really mean green eyes. Mrs. Malvin who always sided with Suzie and Daniel and all the other kids.

“Fine,” she muttered, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. She kicked the desk and received sharp looks from Mrs. Malvin and from her father. Her mother’s jaw was set in a strong line. She zoned out and stared up at the pictures above the classroom windows. Those were the pictures drawn by the good kids, who didn’t get lost in the new calculations on their PADDs or spend ‘too much time’ reading. It didn’t matter what she said, she’d never be one of those kids, so B’Elanna just sulked her way through the lecture, nodding when she was supposed to. Of course she’d apologize to everyone tomorrow. In front of the class. Of course she understood that she was too sensitive. 

Why was her mother so angry? What had she done wrong? 

The ride home from school was scary and tense and her parents refused to look at each other. She sat alone at the table in the kitchen eating dinner, staring into her rokeg soup and picking at the chunk of sourdough. “If you aren’t going to eat, B’Elanna,” her father lectured when he came in to check on her, “you can just go to your room.” 

She went to her room, sitting in the doorway, Toby in her arms. Downstairs, her parents fought, as always. And as always, it was about her. 

“You have to teach her to control her temper, Miral,” her father’s voice was so angry. “She’s never going to get anywhere with that attitude. Already, teachers say they don’t want to have her in their classes and you’ve seen how the kids can be with her. She has to calm down.” 

“She has to calm down? B’Elanna is fiery and passionate. The humans here are so devoted to peace and calm and …” A breath. “Today we were supposed to try the Day of Honor. Again. She was supposed to finally find some pride in that temper. And yet again, we are fighting over her discipline. She needs to know more about her people, John. You have to stop pretending like she can only know one side of herself.” 

“If you haven’t noticed, B’Elanna is far more human than you want her to be, Miral.” 

The silence stretched on and on and B’Elanna cowered. Silence like this was never good. 

“Say it, Miral,” her father snapped. B’Elanna winced as if he’d cut her with a knife. 

“This isn’t the most welcoming colony, John. I left my people behind for this colony, for the work you are doing, for the work we do together. I came here to build a life with you, and all you want to do is make your daughter into some perfect human. You’re always telling me she’s more like a human than a Klingon, but when she shows those human traits of sensitivity and compassion, you tell her she needs to toughen up. Sometimes I think we are your project to prove to the galaxy that Klingons aren’t all vicious and bloodthirsty. To prove that we can be respectable members of Federation society.” 

The silence grew meaner. B’Elanna stared at the wall across from her bedroom. It was covered in pictures of starship engines that she’d drawn. Mrs. Malvin never wanted to put up those pictures. 

Her father never answered her mother. 

“That’s what I thought, John.” 

“Miral, that isn’t how I feel and you should know that.” 

“You should have said that five minutes ago.” 

“And when are you going to understand that our daughter isn’t going to fit into Klingon culture any more than she does with humans? She needs to learn to control herself and you aren’t helping with that. And honestly, Miral, the Day of Honor isn’t exactly the best way to help with that. To teach her that the only way she can be a Klingon is to defeat her enemies? What kind of lesson is that when she’s hitting and kicking kids in school?”

B’Elanna bit her lip so hard it bled and threw Toby across the room. She’d heard what her father hadn’t needed to say. She was a mistake. She shouldn’t have been born. 

“Our daughter will have to find her own way,” her mother bit back. “But she can’t do that if all you do is tell her that she’s too sensitive and that her temper is one of her worst qualities. She is a Klingon! That temper, that passion, it matters to our people.” 

“She’s living with humans, Miral. And so are you. Maybe it’s time you both adapted.” 

The door slammed. Footsteps thundered on the steps. B’Elanna raced back to her bed. No one came to talk to her. When it had been silent for long enough that she was sure she was forgotten, she slid from bed and went to her desk where her building blocks were set up. Today’s project was a robot. One that would walk and talk and be her friend. Robots didn’t care about emotions. Or honor. 

**USS Voyager, 2375  
Delta Quadrant**

“I …” Tom was gasping … “really don’t … think … it’s fair .... that we let a Klingon play this game.” 

B’Elanna laughed and tossed a towel over to Tom, where he was sprawled out on a bench at the end of the hoverball court, next to Harry who was also crying out for air. Chakotay just tossed her a look and she smirked and settled onto their bench. “You know,” she said to Chakotay, “I get that we’re Starfleet washouts and all, but look at these two. Starfleet to the core and we kicked their asses.” 

“Hey!” Tom disputed. “Chakotay’s more Starfleet than I am.”

“Who got caught on their first mission for us?” the commander retorted. B’Elanna covered her laugh with her hand. Poor Harry just looked uncomfortable. 

“Oh, it’s okay, Starfleet,” she teased the ensign, who seemed so much younger than her even though they were close to the same age. 

“No, I’m just wondering if I’d ever have the stuff to …” he didn’t bother finishing the statement because they all knew where he was going with it and the four of them burst out laughing. “No. Forget that. The maquis would have taken one look at me and sent me off to preschool or something.”

“Trust me,” B’Elanna said, “we aren’t that cool. I mean, if we were, would I hang out with the two of you?”

“She’s got a point,” Tom said, finally sitting up and wiping his face. “And I think we deserve a rematch.” 

“Wish I could,” Chakotay said as he stood up and tossed his towel toward the hamper in the corner. “But I’ve got a meeting with the Captain and some crew evaluations to knock out. Which reminds me, B’Elanna -”

“Yeah, I’ll get you those reports by the end of the day,” she interrupted. 

“Thank you.” Chakotay nodded to the others. “It’s been fun. See you on the bridge.” 

The holodeck doors opened and closed and as much as B’Elanna enjoyed Harry’s company, she suddenly wanted him to find something else to do with his time. Tom was sweaty and his shirt was clinging to his chest and every Klingon mating instinct in her was seeking satisfaction. It was also plainly evident that Tom was staring at the way her own shirt clung to her and she’d felt that “accidental” brush of his hand against her ass during that last volley. Really, she’d wanted this to be a day with just her and Tom and she’d planned to get over her fears and knock him to the floor and climb on top of him but at the last minute she’d chickened out. Doubles hoverball was more fun anyway, right? 

Any time, Harry. Any time. Couldn’t he read the room? 

But, Harry didn’t seem like he wanted to go anywhere and she knew he wasn’t on duty til the night shift so, it was unlikely her plan to get Tom alone was going to work. But Tom was staring at her and she was staring at him and every part of her could feel how he’d been the other night. Curled up in their library program, her head on his chest as he read to her from the _Wayfarer_ series. They’d deleted the staff so no one would lecture at them for having a plate of fries between them, and she’d nibbled on the salty goodness while he brought Sissix’s world to life all over again. At a chapter break, he’d put the book aside and brought her lips to his for a kiss and only her being summoned to engineering had stopped his hands from moving up between her legs. 

This was getting ridiculous. 

“Maybe I should hit the showers,” B’Elanna said, finally tearing her eyes from Tom’s. “I’ll let you guys go again. My treat since the program is running on my rations til the end of the hour.” 

“You sure?” Harry was all Starfleet again, ready to sacrifice even when someone made a damn offer. 

B’Elanna rolled her eyes. “Harry, kick his ass, would you?” She flashed a grin to Tom and sauntered out, feeling his eyes on her. It sucked. It was the last time they’d have together until next week. They’d already planned dinner in Paris the night before the Day of Honor, so she could go over the salient details again, and then dinner the night of, so she could vent off her frustrations. Okay, so dinner the night of had been her idea. She figured that if she could get through the ceremony, she’d finally rip his clothes off and do what they both wanted. Kahless help her if things didn’t work out. 

She took the lift down to her quarters on deck nine, always hating how far she was from the officer’s deck but knowing this was how it worked. The Chief Engineer needed to be a stone’s throw away from engineering, and couldn’t be slithering through jeffries tubes in the case of an emergency. The few crew quarters on decks 9, 10, and 11 were all devoted to engineering staff, and B’Elanna had to admit she liked her little family down here. Even if it was six decks away from Tom. What would happen if they did get together? How would they share quarters? He needed to be closer to the flight deck and she had to be accessible to engineering and she needed to get the hell over herself. They hadn’t even put a name to this thing they were doing or trying to do or whatever and she was already picking out pillow covers for the bed. 

Stepping into her quarters, B’Elanna undressed as she walked to the head, tossing her soiled workout clothes into the recycler so she could reclaim some of her rations. Get a grip, Torres she lectured herself as she stepped into the shower and told the computer to start things up. The comforting buzz of the sonic waves pulsed over her and she watched the sweat and dirt vanish into nothingness. 

It wasn’t too late to call off the Day of Honor plans. She could just tell Tom it wasn’t worth the effort and she appreciated it but she just wasn’t ready to face real Klingons let alone holographic ones. She could switch over the holodeck time and get in a good workout and then have dinner with Tom and maybe, finally, confess the truth to him. Truth she was still so scared of that she couldn’t even be alone with him right now. She needed Harry and Chakotay as chaperones. 

The sonic waves died down and B’Elanna stepped from the shower and moved to her dresser, pulling on her current favorite off-duty attire of leggings and a long tunic. A part of her registered how similar this look was to her mother’s back on Kessik IV, but if she thought too much about that, she’d lose her mind. 

Did her mother even know she was missing? Did she think she was dead? 

As much as she wanted to stretch out on the bed and read and maybe nap until her own shift later, B’Elanna opted for a quick lunch of cheese and fruit and settled at her desk to finish her crew evaluations. But despite the shower, despite the workout, despite the desire to not get stuck in her office doing these evaluations all night, she couldn’t focus. And it wasn’t just Tom’s fault. Not really. 

_“What are you doing here, B’Elanna?”_

Why now? Why this year? It wasn’t like she was turning some magical birthday in Klingon lore this year. It wasn’t like this was her first year away from even the hint of anything Klingon. She’d been rolling her eyes at how the crew reacted to her temper and her moods since day one on the ship, so it wasn’t like she had anything to prove there, either. Why did it matter now?

She knew why.

_“What did you see?”_

Closing her eyes, B’Elanna took a breath, shaking away the image of the timeless monk, his white hair coiled around his shoulders, his eyes boring into her. 

_“Tell me. What did you see?”_

Gods, she’d hated Boreth. The dark walls and the dim cells and the metal shelves they called beds. Some of the nuns hadn’t been bad, and there was the monk who challenged her in engineering and math and celebrated when she came up with new ways of doing things. But the daily rituals, the kneeling and the praying and the incense and the reading from books and scrolls that were in direct conflict to everything she was learning about science. And it didn’t help that some of the nuns seemed to hold her in a reverence that didn’t make any sense. 

_“Who is she?” B’Elanna stood on the bridge that separated the monastery from the caverns. “Who is she and why is she haunting my dreams? What is behind that door?! Tenavik!”_

_“You are not ready for what the fates will tell you, B’Elanna.”_

_“Who are you to tell me when I’m ready?!”_

She had to get these evaluations done. “Computer,” she said to the room, desperate for something other than the white noise of the engine pulse and the chirping of the computer. “Access personal database. Play …” she sighed. “ _Play Tomorrow is my Turn_ by Rihannon Giddens.” The computer chirped its acknowledgement and the 21st century folk singer came through her speakers. She’d discovered Rihannon by accident her first year at the academy. She and Max and Carlotta had signed up for a History of Earth class and ended up at a coffee shop open mic where the singers all specialized in recreations of ancient songs. When the music had started, B’Elanna had been insulted, thinking the music was in fact, Klingon. There was such a passion to it, a heartbreak that so many people didn’t realize was a part of the songs of her mother’s people. Instead, she’d discovered a woman of power and fallen deeply in love. Maybe, someday, she’d introduce the music to Tom, whose love of ancient earth seemed to be stuck in the year 1952, but they could always build on something. 

The pick of the guitar hit the right nerves and slowly, B’Elanna began to unwind. The memories of Boreth faded and she found her focus. These evaluations had to get done. Now. Work was more important than Tom or Boreth or Klingon rituals that she still didn’t really understand.


	3. 3

**Kessik IV, 2356**

Everything hurt. Everything. Mommy and Daddy said it was a stomach bug and that it infected both her stomachs and that’s why she felt so bad. Being Klingon was dumb if it meant she got twice as sick. The doctor had even come over. She remembered him putting a hypospray on her neck and then she fell asleep and when she woke up, it was dark and her window was open. Her room smelled like incense and smoke. 

“Lanna,” she heard her mother say. “Oh, honey.” 

B’Elanna puked into a bowl by the side of the bed and tried not to burst into tears. Klingons didn’t cry when they were sick, right? But her mother moved to the bed, took the bowl, and came back a few minutes later with a glass of cold nectar. “Drink this. It should help.” 

Too sick to fight, she obeyed, and the thick juice did settle her stomachs a little bit. She put her head back into her mother’s lap and closed her eyes at the feel of her fingers in her hair. “Where’s daddy?” she whispered. 

“He went to get some sleep. He was watching you this afternoon.” 

It was so nice not to feel tension in her parents. Maybe being sick was a good thing. “Mommy?”

“Yes, my little one?”

“I’m sorry I got sick on the Day of Honor.” 

Her mother’s hand just kept stroking her hair. “You know, when I was about your age, I got really sick on the Day of Honor too. I slept through the rituals and I thought your grandmother would be so angry with me for not being strong enough to stand up to the demons in my body. But when I woke up, she was burning this incense and brought me that nectar and I felt better. She said that sometimes, you just have to purge what’s inside to face the outside world.” There was a pause and a chuckle. “And sometimes, you just have the flu.” 

“Can you tell me a story? About the Day of Honor? Why does it matter so much?” 

Another tender stroke. “It’s so hard to impress the rituals on you when we’re so far from our people, Lanna. I know it’s hard for you to understand why they matter.” She paused. B’Elanna let her mother talk. She was too tired to do anything else. “I know how passionate our people are is scary to you. I know you feel that rage in your chest and you get in trouble for expressing it. And I know it’s hard for you to understand how our people are seen by others. Our warrior heritage, it isn’t just about battle and glorious defeat. If it was, we’d have killed ourselves off a long time ago.” 

B’Elanna coughed and her stomach jumped and her mother stilled. When she settled again, her mother continued, pulling the blanket up a bit tighter around B’Elanna’s shoulders. B’Elanna reached for Toby and cuddled her tattered targ close. 

“B'Elanna, our people get caught up in tales of battle, but we are artisans. We are craft workers. We are engineers. Our ships were sailing through the galaxy long before your father’s people discovered warp.” She paused, still stroking B’Elanna’s hair. “And I don’t say that to make you feel bad about humans. They are quick witted and curious and have an explorer's touch that so many cultures do not. Sometimes, that gets them into trouble and sometimes, it makes great empires like ours angry. But they are truly an intriguing people.” 

“Daddy says humans like peace more than war.”

“Your father leaves out just how messy and destructive his people are, Sweetheart. But he isn’t completely wrong. Humans will always look for a diplomatic solution, even when sometimes, you just need to punch someone.” That made B’Elanna laugh a little bit. But not too much. Her stomachs still hurt. 

“Do you miss Q'onoS?” 

Her mother was quiet for a very long time. “I do, little one. I miss it so much. I miss the bustle of the cities and I miss the smell of leather and silk. I miss being around a people who can communicate more with a grunt than any culture can in paragraphs of words.” She sighed. “But, I love you and I love your father, and I want to be here on Kessik. We’re doing good work here. We’re building a home. I just wish the homeworld … was more welcoming to people like your father.” 

“And me too?”

There were tears in her mother’s voice when she spoke again. “And you too.” She sighed. “There aren’t that many hybrids like you out there. It isn’t easy to mix Klingon and human DNA. But here you are, and you don’t deserve the pressure put on you, to be this bridge of culture. You deserve to just be a little girl, running as wild as you want to.” 

“Do you think Klingons and humans will ever accept me?”

Again, her mother was silent for a long time. “I think,” she said with a fierce conviction, “that any human who doesn’t honor you doesn’t live into their credo of accepting all for who they are, and any Klingon who doesn’t does not deserve to go through the rituals on the Day of Honor.” 

B’Elanna wanted to say more, but she was so tired and her mother’s hand was so comforting. So she lay still and didn’t even want a story. She just wanted to sleep, and dream of playing with other kids like her, and in that dream, she wouldn’t have such a stomach ache. 

**USS Voyager, 2375  
Delta Quadrant**

She’d overslept. Of course she’d overslept. It wasn’t like she and Tom had snuck away for a picnic dinner in the crawlspace down past the aeroponics bay, where there was a viewport that made it seem like you were just flying through the stars without anything around you. It wasn’t like she’d burst into tears talking about why she was so scared of the Day of Honor and how hard it was to be the only Klingon in the whole quadrant. It wasn’t like she’d found the courage to crawl into his lap and just kiss him for what felt like hours. 

So of course she’d overslept and her damn sonic shower had blown out and now two people were out sick and by the time Vorik had stopped giving her puppy dog eyes and instead offered to do a recalibration on a manifold on the injector manifolds, she’d made the decision that, yet again, the Day of Honor was off the table. Since childhood, the universe had been telling her that this damned day was not for her to celebrate. 

Of course, she had to tell that to Tom and it was just something she wasn’t up for doing. Yet someone else to disappoint. He’d worked so hard on the program, done so much research, and the time spent together building the story had been everything she wanted when it came to turning their intimate friendship into something more. He made her want to embrace that Klingon part of her and maybe it was because he’d been there three years ago in that camp with the Vidiians and maybe it was because underneath that flyboy he was something special and maybe she was just overall the hell falling in love with him, but she just didn’t want to disappoint him. 

She felt him before he spoke, that gentle change he gave to a room when he walked in. And maybe she was biased, but she felt things shift when he was near. Which made it all the worse when he opened his mouth. “Good morning. Here's the helm control evaluation you wanted.”

He hadn’t needed to drop this off in person. He could have uploaded it. “Thank you,” was all she gave him. Please, Tom, she begged silently, don’t push about tonight. 

He pushed.

“We still on for dinner tonight?” He asked. 

B’Elanna blanched, remembering for just a moment how dinner had ended last night, how she’d wanted so much from him and how she just wasn’t sure right now was the best time to add whatever their next step was into the mix. “I may have to work. I'll let you know.” It wasn’t a lie. She had two engineers out sick, which ruined the entire duty roster and if problems like the ones she’d been dealing with all day kept cropping up, she’d be in the bowels of the ship for the rest of time. 

“Ah-ha. Okay. Have you decided if you're, if you're going through with it?”

It. The thing they’d worked on for weeks. The thing he’d so carefully researched for her. The thing she hated more than just about anything else on the Klingon calendar and she just wasn’t brave enough to tell him why. The Day of Honor just … sucked … and sentiment didn’t change that. Missing people with cranial ridges didn’t change that. Having a … what was Tom anyway … but having someone like him who wasn’t afraid to push her about it, that also didn’t change it. This day just blew. “I have,” she said, focusing on the panel in front of her and not Tom, “and I'm not. Today hasn't started out very well, and the last thing I need is to get involved with some obscure Klingon ritual.” 

His disappointment was palpable. “You were the one who suggested it.” 

“I know, and for one sentimental minute I thought that I might actually go through with it. But not anymore.” It physically hurt to say it out loud, but right now, facing off against some damn interrogator who was going to question her honor while she was unwashed and hungry was just the last thing she wanted to do. She had a few hours in the middle of the day to herself and she was going to eat, take a shower, and grab a nap. If she was lucky and she didn’t have to fill in for someone tonight, she’d take Tom up on dinner. 

“Of course not. Wouldn't want to get too sentimental.” 

Damnit, Tom. Why did his buttons have to be just as sensitive as hers? Why was he just as fucked up as she was? Steeling herself, she led him away from the general crowd and turned, finally giving him the respect he deserved in this moment. “I overslept this morning because I forgot to tell the computer to wake me, and then the acoustic inverter in my sonic shower blew out.” 

“That'll make your hair stand on end.”

He wasn’t getting a laugh out of her. “So I didn't have time for breakfast, and when I got here two people were out sick so I had to cancel the fuel cell overhaul, and then an injector burst for no apparent reason and started spewing plasma coolant.”

“That's a run of bad luck all right.”

Kahless, she was going to kill him and his damned humor as a defense mechanism. Didn’t he ever just want to punch something? “So I am in a bad mood, and I know that I am being a little bit testy…” she trailed off, looking for words that would make it better. 

Tom saved her. “That's okay.” He smiled and leaned in a bit. “Think about that dinner.”

The doors to engineering opened and out of the corner of her eye, B’Elanna watched the other man in her life approach. Chakotay had that look on his face, the one that told her he had a lot of things to go over with her but right now he was all business. Tom stepped away and leaned in as Chakotay approached. “Be careful,” he murmured. Chakotay only raised an eyebrow while B’Elanna contemplated the different ways to make Tom’s replicator account refuse to ever dispense pizza again. 

Chakotay approached with an order she was contemplating refusing, but she was just too tired. The Day of Honor could fuck right off. Who cared that it actually wasn’t a terrible idea to pick the Borg’s brain for ideas on how to get back to the Alpha Quadrant faster or that the former robot might just have knowledge they couldn’t conceive of yet. That drone had tried to hurt this ship, her friends, and her engine room on more than one occasion and until they went a good month or so without any incidents, she didn’t want to start changing things around here. But Chakotay wasn’t going to let her whine, no matter how much she tried. So, she stared at him, arguing with the brick wall that he could be once his mind was made up until he pulled rank. 

The Borg. Here. In her engine room. Trying to open some transwarp conduit that might attract other Borg. And then it would be all fun and games and everyone in the collective would be able to hear her thoughts about how much she wanted Tom Paris to relieve her stress and how much she hated the Day of Honor. And he was ordering her to do this, to take the Captain’s pet project into her circle. How would he react if they found some damn Cardassian and made him a bridge officer? But she bit the inside of her lip so hard she tasted blood and nodded her assent at his order. “Yes, Sir.” 

Yeah, the damned interrogator could wait another year.


	4. 4.

**Kessik IV, 2357**

“Well, Bella,” abuela Paola was saying as she worked the rose hip oil through her curls, “have you ever asked your mami about the other hybrids like you?”

“Hybrids is a stupid word,” she shot back. But no, she hadn’t. Not since last year when she’d been so sick. “And daddy says there aren’t a lot and that I should be glad I’m special but he just wants me to learn how to be quiet and not get in trouble.” It wasn’t fair to snap at abuela, she knew, but tonight was supposed to be about her and her mother. She’d been promised a night of stories about her grandmother L’Naan and they were going to do the prayer for the dead and talk about the Day of Honor. For once, B’Elanna had really been looking forward to the time with her mother, and even if she didn’t want blood pie, she wanted stories she didn’t get to hear. Her father didn’t want her learning about it, but he was off-world. Her mother, however, was managing a crisis down at the energy plant and so it was just her and abuela and she loved her grandmother so much, but this wasn’t what she’d planned on for tonight. 

“Your father worries about you,” her grandmother argued, combing the last of the tangles out before beginning to braid. “He wants you to succeed.” 

“How come for humans, at least the ones here, succeeding means sitting still?” 

Abuela didn’t answer and B’Elanna just stared out the window at the unseasonal snow on the trees. She hated the snow and the cold. It always got into her bones and she never felt completely comfortable. Her mother complained when the weather was like this, and started talking about going back to the homeworld. It was never really warm enough on Kessick for either of them. 

Her father was off world, again. He went away more and more, and mami was just angry all the time. Even abuela seemed to come less often and she was only a day’s shuttle trip away. She said it was because she was getting older but B’Elanna was starting to think everyone was just pulling away. 

“Abuela?”

“Yes, Bella?” 

“Did you want dad to marry mom?”

The long silence that followed made her twitch, but B’Elanna bit her lip and waited. “I was nervous,” abuela said. “But not because I didn’t love your mother. I do. I’ve been enchanted with her since your father brought her home to meet me.” She finished braiding and tied off the tresses. “Hand me that towel, Bella.” B’Elanna obeyed. Abuela wiped the oil from B’Elanna’s neck and then from her own hands. “But you see, you know how your mother and your father, they fight?” B’Elanna nodded. “The relationship between your mother’s people and humans, it isn’t always good. There’s a lot of fighting and there’s a history of all out war. There are a lot of humans who don’t trust Klingons and there are Klingons who would kill a human before speaking to them.”

B’Elanna blinked and tugged her knees up to her chest. She could see herself in the mirror - scared and small, her curly hair pulled back and showing off her turtle-headed ridges. It was a stupid name. Turtles didn’t have ridges on their heads. 

“I worried about you,” Abuela continued. “I worried that the tensions that exist between these two worlds couldn’t be resolved inside a child. And I know you struggle, my little one. But it was a miracle when you were conceived and you remain a miracle. Your road in life, it won’t be easy, and I wish your parents were more aware of that. I think, sometimes, your parents worry more about themselves than about you, but I know you will thrive and I can’t wait to see who you grow up to be.” She hugged her from behind and B’Elanna stared at their reflection. Her mother always said she was a perfect mix of her grandmothers and for the first time ever, she saw it. “Come on. I think banana pancakes are the best choice for dinner.” 

For the first time in days, B’Elanna smiled. 

But as she followed her abuela down the stairs, she glanced at the older woman’s feet. Smooth and simple, beautiful. Without any of the ridges that B’Elanna had. Once, she’d worn sandals because she liked how they looked and Suzie had made fun of her duck feet. She just wasn’t as pretty as the other girls. 

“Abuela?” she asked as they came into the kitchen. 

“Yes? And get the mixing bowl down, would you?”

She obeyed. “Do you think I’m pretty? Do you think mami’s pretty?” 

Again, silence. When she turned to her grandmother, there were tears in the woman’s eyes. She leaned down and cupped B’Elanna’s cheeks and kissed her ridges. “Bella, you are the most beautiful little girl in the galaxy. Don’t ever let anyone ever tell you otherwise. And when you fall in love someday, you fall in love with someone who makes you feel that way. Don’t ever settle for anything less. And as for your mother, I always thought she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen … until I met you.”

“Why do the other girls make fun of me and the boys call me names? Why do they say I’m ugly like a dog?”

The tears spilled over and B’Elanna shifted. She’d made abuela cry. “I wish I could answer these questions in a way that made your heart feel better, my little one. But the answers don’t make any sense to someone with a heart as good and sensitive as yours.”

“Daddy says being sensitive is bad.” 

“Your father is right about many things. He isn’t right about this.” Abuela patted her cheek and then straightened up and wiped her eyes. “Go on now, get the bananas out. And I think we should have some whipped cream on top tonight, don’t you think?”

“Yeah …” B’Elanna handed the bananas over. “Yeah, that sounds good.” While her grandmother worked on the batter, B’Elanna settled at the table, staring out into the dark night. The Day of Honor didn’t really sound all that honorable anymore. It was just a day she was supposed to celebrate for no reason that even her mother didn’t get to enjoy. Maybe her father was right. Maybe celebrating all this Klingon ritual was just silly. Humans didn’t have rituals like that and they did just fine and they didn’t get disappointed when things didn’t work out like this. Maybe it was just dumb to get excited about it in the first place. 

**USS Voyager, 2375  
Delta Quadrant**

All right, this wasn’t a bad way to spend part of the Day of Honor. B’Elanna was more than happy to forgo her nap -and possibly her holodeck time - in order to get people the help they needed. Especially a group of people hunted and tormented by the Borg. 

It seemed everyone in the alpha quadrant had been harmed in some way by the big, nasty green beings from another part of the galaxy. Starships destroyed, colonies decimated, entire planets wiped out all in the name of assimilation. One of the reasons B’Elanna was cautious of her own people’s history was their unending sense of Imperialism, the stated belief that Kahless wanted them to control the galaxy. She just wanted to live in harmony with her engine core. Was that too much to ask? But no, now she was holding the hands of people hurt by the Borg and she had to stand next to one in engineering while her warp core was molested by one of them. 

No, as she kept reminding herself, Seven of Nine was a human now. That had been drilled into her by the captain and Chakotay and even Tom and she didn’t care a single bit about it. The woman had used engineering to try and contact the Borg. She’d hurt Harry in the process. She’d put the ship in danger. But nope, the captain had a new pet and they all had to play nice. 

A part of her conscience poked at her, wondering if B’Elanna would feel this way if she didn’t feel quite so replaced. She and Janeway had a good relationship, they understood each other. Having a captain who was a scientist and not some hotshot soldier had been comforting to B’Elanna, and she’d found a mentor in the captain that she had never expected. Now, the captain’s time was taken up with Seven of Nine and the thought turned her stomach. After all, what if she’d just been a pet project too? What if Janeway had just been trying, like so many others before her, to just make B’Elanna more … human? 

“How are those thorium isotopes coming, Vorik?” Yes. Focus on the job at hand, not the anxiety in the back of her mind or holographic Klingons or people liking the Borg more than her. She approached the Vulcan engineer, ready to offer suggestions. Vorik was brilliant, but too often his logic stood in the way of coming up with creative solutions, and he needed more hand holding than he liked to admit. 

“I’ll admit I’m having trouble controlling the neutron absorption,” he stated. Case in point. He was smart enough to try what she was about to suggest without her having to suggest it, but he still hadn’t found ways to trust the chaos of science. 

“Try increasing the temperature of the plasma,” she suggested, but her mind was already wandering again. Standing at the warp core station, B’Elanna’s favorite station, was the silver-clad borg. “Get the thorium to the captain as soon as it’s ready,” she ordered needlessly. Vorik knew that and his blase “of course” told her so. B’Elanna’s focus though was no longer on her eager beaver of an engineer but instead, Seven of Nine. She approached, her defenses up, her arms crossed over her chest, her heart breaking for the people Voyager was now helping. Had Seven of Nine been one of those who assimilated this culture? Who had ruined a millennials old way of life? 

“Tell me something,” B’Elanna challenged, “when you hear about people like the Caatati, do you have any feelings of remorse?”

Seven only looked coolly at her, her blue eyes passively inquisitive, as if B’Elanna was a bug she was contemplating whether or not to swat. “No,” she said. Nothing further, no hint of fear or sadness. Nothing other than a “no” even colder than the computer’s answers to standard questions. 

Hackles up, B’Elanna pushed on, needing something from this borg. Something. Anything to justify her being here, with her warp core, with her engineers. Why was she supposed to trust this creature with Joe’s life? With Nicoletti’s? “That’s it? Just, no?” What happened when there was an accident and someone was hurt? Would she approach the situation the same way? Did she really believe she was so damn infallible? 

“What further answer do you require?” Seven’s voice took on a hint of confusion, and under the bland, robotic drone voice, B’Elanna could almost convince herself she heard confusion. Almost. 

“Well, maybe some kind of acknowledgement of the billions of lives you helped destroy. A justification for what you did. Maybe a little sense of guilt.” Anything. B’Elanna had killed over the years. Hell, she’d programmed a damned smart bomb to take out a Cardassian planet and hadn’t thought twice about it. Not then, anyway. But the guilt of _Dreadnought_ still kept her up at night and even though she had no love for the Cardassians, she also wondered about the families of those who never made it home after one of her raids. The old adage was that every time you took a life, it was supposed to destroy a little of you as well. But that was a human adage and she was Klingon and she was supposed to celebrate her honored dead, but what did a Borg do? They didn’t have a Day of Honor, after all. 

“Guilt is irrelevant,” Seven retorted, her tone changing from confused to condescending and B’Elanna was done with the whole thought process. 

“Heartwarming,” she muttered, turning away. This was going nowhere and she wasn’t about to have it out on the Day of Honor with some dishonorable drone. 

But Seven of Nine was speaking again. “I've set the parameters for the tachyon bursts we'll need to create a transwarp conduit. It will be several hours before the main deflector can be modified. I think it would be best if I waited in my alcove.” The tone remained condescending, but in truth, she was right. All she could do here was stand around and annoy B’Elanna just by existing and B’Elanna was glad she didn’t have to order her out of engineering. 

“I think you’re right,” she snapped. Seven of Nine walked away. B’Elanna let out a breath and checked the chronometer. Technically, her shift was up and she would be back here later, so, maybe it was time to take a break. There was still work to do, but Vorik had the isotopes under control and honestly … she was hungry. 

“Joe!” She hollered up to her second-in-command. His red hair popped over the side of the railing. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours for the transwarp corridor test.” 

“Got it!” 

“Holler if you need me.” 

“We always need you, Chief!” He hollered back. B’Elanna smiled. Four years ago, she’d broken his nose in two places because he pissed her off. Now, she couldn’t imagine running engineering without him. But right now, she just needed a break, so she left him in charge and headed down to the mess hall. Maybe not her smartest move, but the last thing she needed was to be alone with her thoughts.


	5. 5.

**Kessik IV, 2358**

She hadn’t wanted Gavin Tucker to kiss her. He was older than her and she didn’t like him very much because he teased her and didn’t like that she was younger than him but better at math and science. Anyway kisses were stupid and for older kids and she had robots to build and books to read. But he caught up to her on the walk home from school and she was tired of getting in trouble so she didn’t tell him to go away. Not even when he followed her into the backyard. 

“Go away, Gavin,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I have things to do.” And she did. Today was the Day of Honor and she'd promised her mother she'd spend time with her and learn some of the stories. 

“So do I!” He said, before grabbing her arms and kissing her. B’Elanna screamed and pushed back at him so hard he fell on his butt. And then, her backyard was full of giggling and she realized in horror that his friends had followed them and this was a setup. Angry tears blocked her eyes and she was torn between running up to the escape of her treehouse or kicking and punching Gavin. 

“You didn’t bite!” He taunted. “I thought Klingons were supposed to bite! Bite me!” B’Elanna kicked him now, hard enough that he screamed in pain. 

“Go away, Gavin!” she screamed again. 

The backdoor of the house opened and B’Elanna glanced over to see her mother emerge, her dark eyes flashing at the children. Her father was right behind and pushed past before anyone got grabbed (or kicked again) by the big, mean Klingons. It didn’t register why both her parents would be home at this time. Her mother was, sometimes, working from the home office. B’Elanna was supposed to come in and do her homework. Today though, today mommy had promised it was their day. They’d spent the last week talking about the Day of Honor and B’Elanna thought it was pretty silly to have to talk about defeating enemies, but standing over Gavin’s sobbing body, she started to get it. Her father hadn’t wanted her to do it. Her father thought the ritual was obscure. She’d stayed up listening to their fights. Why did her mother have to scream so loudly? 

Why did she sound like her mother as she bellowed at the dumb boys who had decided to taunt her. While her father gathered them and sent them on their way, B’Elanna shoved past her mother and ran to her room and slammed the door. She threw herself on the bed, barely registering the dress her mother had left out or the jewelry on her vanity. Grabbing her pillow, B’Elanna unleashed a scream into it, kicking her feet, muddying the dress with her shoes. She didn’t care. She didn’t care. She didn’t care. She was so tired of being different but she was so scared of other Klingons because what if she wasn’t enough for them. 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, kicking the bed and screaming, but she did register the door opening and her mother’s footsteps. “Lanna?” She heard her mother ask before feeling a hand on her back. She could smell the sweet scent of the oils her mother used in her hair and turned her face to see her mother’s dark eyes meeting her own. “Are you hurt, my little one?” B’Elanna sniffed and choked on snot and tears and her mother smiled tenderly and offered a hankie. “Come on, let’s clean your face. I’m sorry those boys were so dishonorable.” 

Rubbing her eyes with the hankie, B’Elanna followed her mother into the bathroom and washed her face. Her mother brushed her hair back, “Your curls are as unruly as mine were at your age.”

“They’re annoying,” B’Elanna sniffed as she plopped down on the edge of the tub. “My hair is always out of control and I’m always tripping over myself.” 

“It’s what it’s like to have a body that grows so fast. Don’t worry, Lanna. You’ll find your balance.” 

“I’m sorry I ruined Day of Honor.” 

“You didn’t ruin anything.” 

It was then that she realized just how sad her mother’s voice was and that it had nothing to do with Gavin’s prank. “Mommy?” she asked. 

The door to the bathroom opened all the way and B’Elanna looked up to see her father’s face, which was as sad as her mother’s. She frowned. Why was he home? This was her and mommy’s day. He’d said he was going to go visit abuela and let them have a couple of days together. “Daddy?”

“Lanna,” her mother sighed. “Come on downstairs into the living room, sweetheart. Your father and I need to talk to you.” 

This was not what the Day of Honor was about. 

Slowly, she rose and walked out into the hall and down the stairs, keeping her eyes on the green rug and the polished wood of the stairs. Her hand gripped the banister and even so, she slipped on the last step and stubbed her toes inside her boot. Her parents sat on the couch and she settled between them. 

“B’Elanna,” her father said. She looked up at him. “Kiddo, there’s been an accident.” 

“An accident?”

What were they talking about? 

“Abuela Paola fell today and she hurt herself really badly. She’s …” her mother sighed and again, B’Elanna saw tears in her mother’s eyes. “Sweetheart, she didn’t make it. Your father is leaving on the next transport to go to her and we’ll go to the funeral in a few days. He took the later one because we wanted to tell you.” 

No. This didn’t make any sense. This was supposed to be the Day of Honor and she didn’t understand why it wasn’t working that way and her father was here and her grandmother wasn’t dead she couldn’t be dead the only one in her family who loved her more than anything was abuela and she wasn’t dead and it didn’t make any sense. Who was going to braid her hair and make banana pancakes and give her hugs when her parents didn’t make any sense? “You’re lying!” she screamed. “You’re lying because you didn’t really want to do the Day of Honor and you don’t want Abuela to come any more and …” her emotions bubbled over and she pushed away from the couch and ran to the mantle where the photos of her grandmothers were held. Angry, she grabbed the photograph and held it against her and she ran up the stairs, back to her room, slammed the door and sank against it. Her grandmother wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be. It didn’t make any sense. 

“B’Elanna?” she heard her mother outside the door. 

“NO!”

And then it came bubbling out of her, an unworldly scream she couldn’t understand. She raised her head to the sky and screamed so loud and hard that she was sure she was going to shake apart and only when she stopped because she couldn’t breathe did she realize her mother was sitting on the other side of the door and had joined her scream. 

Slowly, she slunk away from the door and let it open. B’Elanna sat in the middle of her room, exhausted. “What was that?” she asked as her mother came in and sat next to her. She didn’t fight when her mother pulled her into her lap. She cuddled against her, like she hadn’t since she was really little. 

“Your soul was warning the afterlife that your grandmother is on her way. When Klingons lose someone we love, someone who is a part of us, someone who we hold in honor, we raise our scream to the dead and warn the guards of Sto-vo-kor that someone worthy is coming.” 

“But Abuela didn’t believe in Sto-vo-kor.” 

“The guardians of the afterlife, they needed to be warned she was coming. You know her, she’ll have everything running smoother and everyone eating banana pancakes before the night is over.” Her mother placed a gentle kiss on her head and rocked her. Her father didn’t come. 

B’Elanna sat there, curled up in her mother’s lap, for so long that the sun fell beyond the horizon and the moons shone through her window. Finally, she pulled back and slunk up to her bed. “I’m sorry today got ruined, Mommy.” 

“Today, I watched my little warrior defeat her enemies and welcome her grandmother to the afterlife. That’s a pretty impressive Day of Honor.” 

“You aren’t mad that I kicked Gavin?” 

“B’Elanna, when anyone ever puts their hands on you like that, with no respect, I want you to kick them so hard they see stars for a year. You have my permission to break anything you need to break.” She joined her on the bed. “You are descended from Queens, my little one. You deserve only love and respect.” 

Confused, B’Elanna scrubbed her face and cuddled Toby close into her arms. “But you told me that grandma L’Naan and you are Klingons with no house. How can we come from queens?”

“Someday, some Klingon man is going to tell you that the only way to have honor is to attach your name to some house they cannot prove is their own lineage without a doctor running a scan. B’Elanna, women carry the power. We bring children into this world and only we know who the father is. You do not need a Klingon house to hold honor, and when you are ready, when you are old enough, I will tell you the story of our bloodline. I will tell you of the Queen you come from.” She stroked B’Elanna’s hair. “But tonight, perhaps, we can put your dress up and the jewelry away. Let’s go light the candles and the incense and make a Plea for the Dead.” 

Normally, B’Elanna fought the ritual. Kneeling for the prayer was boring, really. But she nodded and kicked off her boots and followed her mother back down the stairs. Her father had already left and B’Elanna tried to push away the hurt that he hadn’t said goodbye. She stood behind her mother as she took the candles from the cupboard and for the first time she realized just how little of her mother’s people were in the decorations on the house. Her mother rarely wore anything to distinguish herself as a Klingon - no leather, no weapons. Just simple pants and tunics and she even wore a human wedding ring. 

Her mother set the candles on the coffee table and lit the first taper, handing it to B’Elanna. “Here, light the smallest candle.” B’Elanna did. “This is for you,” her mother said, taking the taper back and lighting others. “For me, for your abuela, for L’Naan. This one,” she lit a large, white candle in the middle, “this is for all of the women of our family.” 

She set the taper into the holder and knelt on the ornate rug the candles were wrapped in. B’Elanna followed suit, closing her eyes, listening to her mother’s voice change from the basics of Federation Standard to the rich tones that always struck her when she spoke Klingonese. “Kahless, we implore you to remember those warriors who have fallen in your name. Lift them out of the Cavern of Despair and reveal yourself to them in all your glory.”

“In all your glory …” B’Elanna intoned, wishing her own Klingonese was as rich and honorable as her mother’s. 

“Remember L'Naan, daughter of Krelik. Remember L’Rell, Mother of all.”

B’Elanna spoke into the silence. “Remember Paola, daughter of Mariella.” 

And there, on the rug, surrounded by candlelight and incense, B’Elanna started to cry. Not to sob, not to howl, but simply, to cry. Her mother wrapped her arms around her and held her until emotion and exhaustion brought her fully to sleep. 

**USS Voyager, 2375  
Delta Quadrant**

Okay, maybe the mess hall was a bad idea. B’Elanna picked at her salad and stared into her fork like it might have all the answers to the questions in the world. She could do it now, if she wanted. She had the time. She could even go change into something that wasn’t this uniform and go get her bat’leth and beat the hell out of the interrogator. Tom was respecting her enough to leave her to the program herself, so she didn’t need to wait for his shift to end. And, if she wasn’t too much of a chicken, she could meet him for dinner after. 

Problem was, B’Elanna Torres was a big ol chicken. 

She sighed and closed her eyes, pushing away memories that had been haunting her for weeks. Every time she inhaled, she smelled the incense of Boreth. With every exhale, she could hear the monks intoning penances for the dead. 

“If I ever saw a job for the morale officer, it's sitting right here. I'll bet I can help.” 

Neelix’s voice startled her, but she didn’t push. Not yet. Truth was, she liked Neelix. They understood each other, in a way. The only ones of their kind on this all too human ship, always sure that one slip-up was going to mean the end of the journey. She also knew he missed Kes, and truthfully, so did she. The gentle Ocampan’s presence had been such a help over these years as the crew’s journey stretched into oblivion. 

So, she offered Neelix her attention. He tried, and he was sweet, and something told her that her mother would actually chase after him a little bit. That made her inner demons smile a bit. “You're facing a big challenge, Neelix.” God, how pathetic did she sound? 

His chest puffed up and he stepped forward. “I enjoy a challenge.” From behind his back he pulled … oh, Kahless. It wasn’t, was it? 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” She said, staring at the platter. The smell wasn’t quite right, but she understood what it was before he even announced it. 

“Blood Pie!” He sounded so proud of himself. “For the Day of Honor!” 

Horror seeped into her blood. This wasn’t supposed to be something the rest of the ship knew about. This was hers and hers alone. And well, Tom’s, because like it or not, he had insinuated himself into her life and right now, she didn’t want him gone. Though, if he’d been talking … “How did you know about that?” she challenged. “Has Tom been talking to you?” She wouldn’t put it past Tom to use Neelix as a third party to convince her to do this thing. 

Neelix shrank a bit and she regretted snapping. “No, not at all. No. No. I make it a point to know these things, and if I'm correct, many Klingon families traditionally serve blood pie on the Day of Honor.” 

He wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t until after her father had left that her mother had started making Blood Pie for the celebrations and by that time, B’Elanna was just too angry to understand the necessity. Despite an instinct in her being drawn to the smells and the texture, she’d fought back, refusing more than a bite or two, complaining, ignoring her mother’s hard work. “I appreciate the gesture, Neelix, but I've decided to ignore this particular tradition. No blood pie, no examining my behavior over the last year to see if I measure up to Klingon standards.” She knew full well that one was a problem. Nothing she ever did measured up to Klingon standards. 

And Neelix did what he did best. He let her snark just roll off his back. He didn’t even set the pie down. He just nodded. “Understood,” he said, and turned away. B’Elanna pressed her head into her hands, wishing the day would be over, not understanding why it wasn’t, and just wanting to cry. But then Neelix came back. “Lieutenant …” he put the pie on the table and sat across from her. To be polite, she looked at the Talaxian. “Without knowing why there's a black cloud hanging over your head, may I suggest something?”

It was tempting to brush him off, but it was kind of nice to talk to someone who was sincere in his desire to just help deal with the mood in front of him. “Go right ahead.” 

He leaned in and she met his yellow eyes. “You ...have a bit of a temper ... that you keep reined in,” it was nice of him to lie, “and sometimes it builds up inside you until you explode at someone.”

Okay, so, she was about to explode at him. But, she took a breath and raised an eyebrow. “I’d say that about sums it up.” 

He continued, and his offer didn’t have anything to do with holodecks or expectations, and B’Elanna about fell over. “I'm offering to be a pressure valve.”

Okay, what? “A what?”

“You may use me to blow off steam. When you're angry, come see me. Call me names, insult me, question my parentage. I won't take it personally, and you won't need to keep things bottled up inside anymore.”

He was so earnest in his offer, so gentle and genuine, she almost burst into tears. B’Elanna stared down at the blood pie, at this small part of who she was that she’d fought against for so long, and wondered if it would actually taste like blood pie. Or was it the thought, the energy, put into the effort that made it what it was? “That may be the nicest offer I've had in a long time. Thank you, Neelix, you're sweet but I'm not sure I could do that to you.” She almost chuckled, but the tears were too close. Even here, at this table, in this moment of connection, she felt so lonely. So isolated. 

_Your road is meant to be walked alone …_

_She’d screamed as the hand came down on her, grabbing her, pulling her back …_

Neelix didn’t push. He just stood up, taking the pie with him. “I’m here if you need me.” 

She needed him. “Neelix,” she said, stopping him from walking away, “about this Day of Honor,” he came back, “do you think I should go through with it?”

“I've always thought traditions were good things, worth preserving,” he said, as he set the pie back down on the table. His voice was coaxing, tender. 

Of course he felt that way. He’d seen his people, his traditions, wiped out and erased. His people weren’t in control of an entire section of a quadrant of space, singing glorious songs in battle as they charged ahead for the honor of the Empire. She took a breath, allowing herself a moment of honesty, allowing him to see behind her walls. “I've been thinking a lot about the rituals my mother taught me, and they don't seem quite so hateful as they did when I was a child.” Why had she always thought of them as hateful? Because her father hated them? Because she hated being different? Looking back, she just wasn’t sure anymore. “Maybe being so far away from anything Klingon has changed me.”

“Certainly can't hurt to go through with the ceremony,” he countered. 

But could it hurt? She hadn’t allowed herself the ritual in what felt like a lifetime. Was she ready to embrace it and what it truly meant to be Klingon? How could she even know what it meant? “I don't know what effect it'll have on me. That's what's frightening.” Neelix just looked at her, his eyes searching hers, letting her know that he didn’t think she’d become some blood thirsty warrior over the span of an hour. And it all seemed so silly in the moment. What was the harm in squaring her shoulders and allowing herself to be asked questions that she was already asking herself? Oh this was a bad idea, but maybe not. Maybe the reason she was sulking wasn’t because she didn’t want to do it, but because she did and her mother wasn’t here to help her and the guy she was in love with just wasn’t a Klingon and this day had never worked out the way she’d always dreamed it would. Maybe the dishonor was in the story she kept telling herself. B’Elanna looked up at the Talaxian and took a breath. “All right, bring on the blood pie. I can do this.” She spooned a hefty bite of the pie into her mouth, regretting it as she closed her lips around the filling. Neelix had tried, but it was somehow more disgusting than the real thing. Still, she appreciated the gesture. And she’d eat the pie, just like she’d eat the heart of targ. Gotta prove her worthiness somehow.


	6. 6.

**Kessik IV, 2359**

Today, she raced home. The argument up at the campsite still rankled and she couldn’t wait to see her mother who had been off world for weeks. _I’ll be home in time for you and me and the Day of Honor, Lanna. I’m so sorry I’ve been gone for so long._

Since the camping trip, since her father had told her - again - she needed to be less sensitive, since she’d overheard what her father had said about her and her mother to Uncle Carl, she hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near the house. She’d stayed at the library until it closed, slept in her treehouse, despite it being cold. She didn’t need him. She didn’t want him. Not if he was going to think about her and mommy that way. But today, her mother was home and she was going to tell her all about what daddy said and they’d talk about it and …

She stepped into the house, calling out in Klingon for her mother, but only silence greeted her. Too much silence. Not the angry silence of her parents fighting or the quiet silence of night. No, just, heavy, weighted silence. Kicking off her runners, B’Elanna dropped her backpack on the foyer floor and made her way completely into the house. Everything felt wrong. 

“Mom?” She hollered. The air held the scent of the incense her mother liked, so she knew she was home. A candle burned on the mantle. “Mom?” 

“Up here, B’Elanna.” 

B’Elanna tore up the stairs two at a time, tripping over the last one and landing hard on her knees but she was up and running into her parent’s bedroom, where she stopped cold. Everything wrong in the house came from here. Her mother was sitting on the bed, holding something in her hands, B’Elanna couldn’t see what. Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying. When did her mother cry?

“What’s wrong?” 

“Lanna, come sit here with me,” her mother said, patting the bed. Cautious, she did, climbing up on the comfortable bed next to her. “How was school today?”

The words died on her tongue. She wasn’t sure how to answer that, especially since she’d gotten in trouble for proving Mr. Collins wrong on a warp engine question. “It was okay,” she hedged. “I’m glad you’re home.” 

A smile crossed her mother’s face. “I’m so glad I’m home, too. I missed you every day.” 

B’Elanna frowned a bit. “Mommy, what is it? Why are you in here crying?”

Her mother was silent for a long time and B’Elanna stared down at the dark red comforter, tracing her finger along the intricate gold patterns. This was her mother’s favorite bedspread, one B’Elanna wasn’t allowed to touch. It was from the homeworld and she might get it dirty. Now they were sitting on it. Maybe it was for the Day of Honor. She kicked her feet a bit and waited for her mother to talk. But she didn’t. So B’Elanna filled the space. 

“Mr. Collins was wrong about a warp engine question and he got mad when I told him I was right but then he looked it up and he had to apologize to me in front of everyone and I was right and it was so cool because usually the teachers don’t apologize when I’m right and --”

“B’Elanna your father left.” 

Well, that wasn’t the interruption she’d been expecting. “What?” Her father left? For where? “Where did he go?”

“B’Elanna,” her mother’s tone was tight, “your father left. He left us. Today, after you went to school, he packed his things and sent me a message that the marriage is over.” She let out a growl and B’Elanna jumped back. She wasn’t used to being in the room when her mother growled like that. It was loud and deep and terrifying. Did she have that in her? She didn’t want to have that in her. What did she mean her father left? Her father would never leave her. He was ashamed of her and how Klingon she was but she’d already decided that once a year she could be Klingon and the rest of the time she’d be human and she would even wear scarves and hats and hide her ridges and when she was older she’d get them removed so she looked human and her father would be so happy. What did she mean he left? 

Her mother was up now, pacing, and B’Elanna couldn’t look at her. She could only look at the red bedspread and the gold thread and, she now saw, her mother’s wedding ring in the middle of the bed. “Why did daddy leave?” 

“Because he’s a spineless petaQ and I should have left him years ago. I should have taken you back to the homeworld and raised you there. We could have gone to Boreth. We could have gone anywhere that wouldn’t treat you like this … like he did.” Her mother stopped pacing and B’Elanna looked up at her. “Your Uncle Carl told me what happened on the camping trip. Were you going to tell me?”

“Yes!” B’Elanna jumped to her feet, defending herself. “I was coming home so fast to see you and tell you about how ashamed I was at the campground and ask how the Day of Honor would make it better but it doesn’t matter because today’s ruined. It’s always ruined. Daddy left and he left because we’re Klingon.” 

“B’Elanna!” 

“It’s true! I heard him at the campout! Did Uncle Carl tell you that? That he said I was a mistake and that he shouldn’t have married you and that we’re too Klingon.” 

In that moment, her mother did exactly what B’Elanna expected her to do. She turned, her arm outstretched, and brought the entire dresser to the floor as rage flooded through her. B’Elanna screamed and jumped back, racing out of the bedroom and down the stairs, tripping again as her feet got tangled in themselves. Stupid feet. Stupid feet with their ridges. Stupid feet she hated. She raced out of the kitchen, not caring that she slammed the door so hard it bounced off its hinges. Up the rope ladder to her treehouse, where she threw herself into her beanbag and did exactly what Klingons weren’t supposed to do. 

She cried. 

She cried because her father left her, she cried because her mother was angry. She cried for all of the times her father told her she was too sensitive, and that her human side needed to be in control. She cried and cried until tears weren’t enough and she grabbed the robot she’d built with him only a week ago and slammed it to the ground, watching it shatter at the base of the tree. But the rage only built and she kept crying and it didn’t make any sense because today was the day she was supposed to confront her demons and show how she’d defeated her enemies and all she’d done this year was drive her father away. 

By the time she could breathe again, the sun had set. There were lights on in the house - the kitchen and her mother’s bedroom. How quickly she’d made the change from her parent’s bedroom to her mother’s bedroom and maybe if she was really good, and a perfect human, her father would come back. He’d come back and he’d love her and maybe if she could prove she wasn’t too Klingon, he’d love her mother again, too. 

“B’Elanna?” Her mother’s voice caught her attention and she looked down at the shadow below. “B’Elanna come inside. You need to eat something and we can do a prayer for the dead and try to relax.” 

“I don’t wanna do a prayer for the dead.” It was too Klingon and her father had left because she was Klingon. The kids teased her because she was Klingon. She didn’t need Gods and prayers or stories about Kahless. 

“Well, at least come inside. Please. For me?” 

Heaving a sigh, B’Elanna took a breath and slowly climbed down. She stood with her mother at the bottom of the ladder and instinct had her wrapping her arms around her waist and clinging for dear life. She didn’t hate her mother. She just hated how everything Klingon made their lives so bad. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough.” 

“Oh, B’Elanna,” her mother dropped to one knee and looked her in the eye. “Lanna, this had nothing to do with you.” 

“Yes, it did.” She started to cry again. How weak was she! She couldn’t stop crying. But now it all tumbled out, everything, the camp out and the worms and the conversation with Uncle Carl and how she’d tried to run away and how she was too sensitive and she needed to stop being sensitive and she’d been so mad and maybe if she hadn’t been mad he wouldn’t have left and by the time she stopped talking her mother had scooped her into her arms. Gently, she lifted her like she hadn’t since B’Elanna was a little girl and carried her into the house. 

“Lanna,” she rubbed her back as they walked, “my little Lanna, nothing you did sent your father away. He left because he thought he married someone else, and he isn’t able to handle that.” 

“Why didn’t he wait for me? Why didn’t he wait to say goodbye?”

“Because, B’Elanna,” her mother set her on the table and B’Elanna stared across the room at the blood pie on the stove. She didn’t want blood pie. “Because your father is a coward and couldn’t even face me. He left when I wasn’t here, when you weren’t here. I know you are angry and confused right now, but remember this, all I will ever ask of you is that you have the courage to face your demons. Don’t run from them. Don’t hide in dark corners.” 

B’Elanna nodded and rubbed her eyes and then looked at her mother. “Can I have a grilled cheese instead?” 

With a sigh, her mother turned to the replicator and typed in the commands. She handed over the sandwich and on the stove, the pie went cold. Her mother left her to eat, and B’Elanna heard her upstairs, banging around, probably cleaning up. B’Elanna ate slowly, her eyes on the pie, and when she was finished with her sandwich, she got up, put her plate in the recycler, and grabbed the pie from the stove. It too went into the recycler, and when she walked into the living room, she blew out the candle and snuffed the incense. On the coffee table was a wrapped box with her name written out in Klingon script. 

Something hardened in her. Under her anger, under her fear, B’Elanna knew it wasn’t her fault. She knew her father was wrong for thinking the way he did. But her father was gone. Her father was gone and she was here, now, with an angry mother who was already turning the house back into a culture that scared B’Elanna. She wasn’t a warrior and she was scared of her temper and maybe the Day of Honor was just a stupid day. Maybe half-Klingons weren’t supposed to celebrate it. 

She left the box on the table. Her mother would give it to her if it mattered. Instead, she climbed the stairs again, walking past her room to peek into where her mother sat in the window, staring outside. She wasn’t sure if her mother knew she was even there, but she didn’t move either way. And so B’Elanna sat in the doorway and watched, wondering if maybe her mother got it wrong, if maybe her father was just gone for a few days. But then, she heard whispering, she heard her mother’s voice murmuring to the winds. The low Klingon tones directing the prayer. “Bless us, Lukara, daughters of your house. Bless us, those with no path. Bless us, those who face dishonor. Bless us, Lukara. Bless B’Elanna, daughter of Miral. Bless Miral, daughter of L’Naan. Bless L’Nann, Krelik. Remember L’Rell, Mother of all.” 

No where in the prayer was her father mentioned, or abuela Paola. It was only Klingons, and lineage and Gods she didn’t understand. 

“I made a mistake with you, B’Elanna,” her mother said and B’Elanna realized her mother had known the whole time she was there. “I let your father set the conversation about heritage. I was so in love that I figured he’d come around, that eventually, he’d celebrate us, together. But the house was always too Klingon, my dress, even your name. I know you love him, Lanna. I know you worship him and remember the time you spent. I know you want nothing more than your father’s adoration. But remember this, always: he is gone. He left you while you were at school. He left you without a note, without anything other than your memories. Your father left you here on a planet where you’ve never felt comfortable knowing that by now, the culture of your people is as alien as Cardassia or Bajor or Betazed. Someday, B’Elanna, I hope you understand that love without celebration and support is dishonorable. Someday, I hope you find someone who loves you for you, for your passion and your sensitivity, for your ridges, for your heart.” 

B’Elanna sat, staring. Her mother was a silhouette in the window, outlined by the moon, and she realized in that moment just how heartbroken she was. “If you’d buried all of your Klingon, do you think he’d have stayed? Do you think he’ll come back?”

“B’Elanna …” her mother’s tone turned sharp, “I hope I never see that petaQ again and someday, I hope you’ll forget him.” 

Anger boiled up all over again, and B’Elanna raced to her room, slammed the door, and didn’t come out for three days. When she did, she made one commitment - to be the best little almost-human she could be. Maybe then, things would be easier. 

**USS Voyager, 2375  
Delta Quadrant**

All right. She could do this. 

B’Elanna had gone straight from the mess hall to the holodeck. No stopping to change, no letting Tom know she was doing it. Nope. If she stopped, she wasn’t going through with it. At the holodeck, she looked left and right and then tapped in the command code for the program. The doors opened to a dark, humid cave, lit with cauldrons of fire. 

As a child, when her mother had started to force the ceremonies on to her, when she was determined to turn B’Elanna into the perfect little Klingon, they’d done so in front of the fire pit in the backyard on Kessick IV. B’Elanna had hidden her face while neighbors looked on, all shaking their heads at the crazy Klingon and her poor child. Stepping into the caverns, holographic as they were, B’Elanna felt a tug she hadn’t felt since Boreth and felt a surge of pride from the part of her who was truly, completely, Klingon. 

She could do this. 

And, maybe next year, she’d program the caverns to, instead, be the caverns at Boreth. Or well, closer to them than these. But Tom had done a good job. It felt … authentic. If she even knew what authentic was. 

Full speed ahead, she charged into the heart of the cavern. Let’s do this. She could face the demons and shout down the haters and touch that part of her soul that wanted so much more than she ever allowed. No one was there. No one was waiting. Her stomachs quaked. “Qapla'! What warrior goes there!” B’Elanna jumped and turned. 

“My name's B'Elanna.” Was that her voice? So shaky and scared? What kind of Klingon was she? _human one …_ her inner voices taunted. 

The Klingon loomed over her and she was reminded just how much smaller she was than almost all of her brethren. “Do you come to have your honor challenged?”

She backed away, shrinking from this all-too-perfect warrior. “I guess so. Yes.” Her stomachs shifted around again. God this was a bad idea. 

“Are you willing to see the ceremony through to the end?”

When her mother had forced this on her in the backyard on Kessick IV, she’d only ever asked B’Elanna how she faced down her enemies and demanded she tell stories. But she remembered this from Boreth, remembered how she’d run from the ceremony hall the first year, wandering the caverns, refusing to face even her dishonor, finding Tevanik on the stone bridge. The second year, the sacred room, to the place where even she still could not process what had happened. The scrolls told her the ceremony, she knew the script, but that didn’t mean she knew what to do with it now that she was facing it. “That's the idea, isn't it? What do I do?” Why the hell had she agreed to this? Why was it so damn important? Hadn’t she been doing just fine all this time without it?

 _No …_ her inner voice reminded her. _She hadn’t._

She hadn’t been okay for years. Not back on Kessick, not at Boreth, definitely not at the Academy. She hadn’t been okay when she joined the maquis, and being here on _Voyager_ only made the walls feel like they were closing in. She had Tom, yes, kind of. Whatever they were, whatever he wanted them to be, it was so confusing. She still felt like they were dancing around what happened down on Sakari but they didn’t need to be and what if she was wrong about them? Why did it matter so much, anyway? After all, she had Harry’s friendship and Chakotay’s ever peaceful companionship. Once, she’d had the mentorship of her captain. But it all just seemed to twist up in her gut and confuse her and really, she just wanted this ritual to make everything make sense, but she knew it wouldn’t because she knew, in her heart she wasn’t tapping into what the point really was. 

But what was the point? Kahless, she was bad at this. Why the hell hadn’t she paid attention more as a little girl? Why hadn’t she understood how important this could all become for her someday? 

The Klingon approached her, slowly, looming as he did. “It will be a lengthy ordeal,” he promised. Oh. Good. Well, it wasn’t that long because she only had an hour of holodeck time saved and she wasn’t going over. “First you must eat from the heart of a sanctified targ.” Her stomachs turned. Why couldn’t Tom have programmed candied ginger or something? But, no, a second Klingon emerged, holding a silver plate of targ heart and she grimaced.

“Pak lohr!” the Klingon challenged. She winced. “Yes ….” he hissed as she swallowed the vile meat, “the heart of a targ brings courage to one who eats it.” Why did Klingons have to be so damned dramatic? 

_Oh, like you aren’t?_ She smacked her inner voice. 

Her interrogator continued, so perfectly proud. “Next you will drink mot’loch from the Grail of Kahless.” The second Klingon brought over the dank liquid, revealing it to her. Why not a good merlot?

 _Oh, shut up._ Now her inner voice sounded like her mother. That wasn’t good. 

“Drink to the glory of Kahless, the greatest warrior of all time!”

Was he? Or did he just have a better PR firm than the last guy? 

But B’Elanna drank, and choked on the brew. The smoke was getting to her and the Klingons were so close and she realized that it didn’t matter how much energy she and Tom had put into crafting this program, she wasn’t ready for this. There was a difference between building a warp engine and understanding how it actually ran and responded to the universe. 

The Klingon was still talking. “Kahless defeated his enemies on the field of battle and built a mighty empire.” He circled her and came back in her personal space and B’Elanna shrank back as he challenged her, again. “How have you proven yourself worthy?” 

Gathering herself, B’Elanna took a breath. She wasn’t a warrior and that should be okay. Despite their differences, her mother had always been proud of her skills as an engineer and those building skills should be worth something. But looking into the interrogator’s eyes, her small bits of courage faltered and ran to hide behind her ever constant rage and defensiveness. “I haven't built any empires, and I can't say that I've personally defeated any enemies in battle, but you have to realize I'm not living among warriors.” She’d built a life on this ship. Wasn’t that enough? 

The interrogator growled at her. “Then how do you expect to distinguish yourself?”

 _See, I’m the only damn Klingon in the Delta quadrant and that’s pretty damn distinguishable,_ the inner voice mocked him from behind the ever growing knot of anger in her stomach. Would she distinguish herself if she punched this guy? But instead of parroting her inner voice, she fell back into sarcasm. It had worked so far. “I don't know. I guess I'm doing the best I can.”

“Huh!” He mocked her. “A pitiful reply.” B’Elanna’s hand curled into a fist and she tensed so hard she felt the skin break on her palm. But, the interrogator moved on. “Let us proceed.” Okay. That she could do. “A warrior must endure great hardship.” 

She wanted to interrupt him. She wanted to yell at him and tell him that she was alone on a ship full of people who didn’t understand her, alone in a quadrant that didn’t have anyone like her. She wanted to tell him about the Academy and the maquis and that day on the bridge in the monastery when she’d challenged Tenavik and he’d stepped aside to let her into the caverns. _Never ask the question when you are not ready for the answer …_ but the mistake she and Tom had made was making this Klingon like all the others. She should have trusted her gut, should have told Tom about Tenavik and the monastery. That might have been a Day of Honor interrogation she could manage. This was just like everything else she’d been raised to expect and just didn’t understand. Not every Klingon was a damn warrior. 

“To test your mettle, you will endure the ritual of twenty painstiks.” 

Shit. Yeah, this wasn’t the stress release she wanted today. 

“After that, you will engage in combat with a master of the bat’leth.” 

What, Tom was coming down? Because she sure as hell wasn’t a master of anything. 

“Finally, you will traverse the sulfur lagoons of Gorath.” 

The lagoons had been her idea. One she now regretted. And suddenly, as he rose his voice to the honor of the battle, she found she just didn’t care. This was what she’d spent her life telling herself was expected of her, and she’d always hated it. Maybe she wasn’t ready. Maybe she was scared. Maybe she just wanted her mother to stand there with her. But it didn’t matter. She was done. She might not know what kind of Klingon she was supposed to be, but she did know she wasn’t this kind of one. “You know,” she said, feeling her shoulders relax just slightly, even as she felt wave after wave of disappointment wash through her. “I don’t think so. I didn’t want to do this before you described it.” She slammed the door on her sentimentality. Today was just too much. He wanted her to describe fighting down her enemies, she’d tell him all about the plasma injectors in engineering. “Certainly not now.” Despite her small size, she started to push past the interrogator. “I’m leaving.” 

He stepped in her way and for an instant, she flinched. “Not until you have completed the ceremony, petaQ.” Then, he made his fatal mistake. He grabbed her arm and spun her around and his assistants came at her with their paintstiks. Holding her against his body, she felt the size and strength she just didn’t have, and the paintstiks were glowing. One touched her shoulder and the agonizing tremor shot through her, reminding her of those ceremonies on Boreth. She wasn’t here for them to celebrate her pain. That was hers to carry. 

As she screamed in pain, rage built, racing through her limbs. A second stik touched her side and she fell to the ground of the cavern, gasping. Pushing herself back to her feet, she missed the third stick as it touched her chest and lightning shot from it, paralyzing her momentarily. But in the back of her mind, an energy built and when the fourth stik approached, she was ready. B’Elanna grabbed it and used the surprise and the Klingon’s weight to knock him off guard. The fun of being smaller than her fellow Klingons was how much they underestimated her in a fight. He recovered and tossed her to the ground, B’Elanna jumped to her feet and pushed right back. She hit him, hard enough that she felt it in her hand, and tossed him over her shoulder. As he rose to his feet, she leveled him again with a two handed strike and she had to admit, the adrenaline made her feel like the warrior she’d always been expected to be. 

Catching her breath, she backed off. “Thanks so much,” she snarked at the holograms, “it’s been lovely.” Not stopping to even think, B’Elanna took off at a run, running from the adrenaline and the fire and the damned Goblet of Kahless. She wasn’t a warrior and she was so tired of pretending she was supposed to be but if she wasn’t a warrior, who was she and what did it matter? Right now, she just wanted to be alone. Her last thought as the door to her quarters slid open was that she wouldn’t tell Neelix what really happened. He’d been so hopeful and she couldn’t bear the disappointment on his face.


	7. 7.

**Kessick IV, 2360**

Well. It was time. It had to be fixed. And there was no time like the present when her mother was inside, making blood pie and lighting candles. If B’Elanna stayed busy, maybe she wouldn’t get dragged inside and be forced to talk about enemies she’d defeated and battles she’d won. It was such a stupid ritual. Her mother wasn’t off battling the enemies of the Empire. What, was she secretly killing off the political leaders on Kessik or something? God. And it seemed to B’Elanna that her mother wasn’t really fighting back against her enemies. They’d both been miserable here since her father left, but still, here they were. Really, if her mother hated it here so much, why didn’t they just go back to the homeworld of a Klingon colony? 

She didn’t bother going inside the house. Everything she needed was out here, in the tool shed she’d appropriated from her father when he disappeared. B’Elanna sorted through the wood she needed to replace the bad boards in the tree house. She needed the connecting spanner, the hammer, and definitely some glue. She put the supplies into a large duffel and dragged it out to the tree where she tied the handles to the lever she’d designed earlier this year to get bulkier objects up to the branches. In moments the bag was up on the platform and she scampered up the rope ladder and got to work. 

There wasn’t that much to do. A patch in the floor, a replaced board by the little window. A stronger container for the blanket and pillow she kept up here on the nights she slept outside and away from her mother. Someday she would have to make this bigger, but right now, it was just her little crawlspace of safety. Her place where even her mother didn’t go. Her room wasn’t safe, school wasn’t safe, but here was her sanctuary. Here, she could put up the candle she’d taken from her mother’s Klingon supplies, and sometimes even light incense. Here, she worked on her Klingon and even read some of the scrolls. Here she could feel Klingon without the pressure of being Klingon. And if her mother knew, she’d take it all away and make it about ritual and not building or exploring. 

By the time she was finished, the sun was starting to set and there was a cool nip in the air. B’Elanna shivered and gave in to her biology - it sucked being cold. Her father had always told her to toughen up about it. Her mother put sweaters in her backpack. Slowly, she made her way down the ladder, put her supplies away, and stared at the back door of the house. Inside, there would be blood pie and something else disgustingly Klingon. She’d have to kneel and confess all of her weaknesses to Kahless. She’d have to talk about how she’d defeated her enemies. Why couldn’t she talk about rebuilding the treehouse? Or how she had been moved ahead two grades in the math and science portions of school? Why was it always about glorious defeat? 

Gathering up her shreds of courage and preparing for a fight with her mother, B’Elanna stepped inside the house. It was silent. A candle burned in the middle of the table, but there was no blood pie on the stove. Instead, there was a plate with a now-cold grilled cheese. Frowning, B’Elanna wandered through to the living room. Her mother’s prayer rug was there, facing the altar, but there was no evidence of her being in the room any time recently. Up the stairs, B’Elanna found her mother’s bedroom door open and her mother sitting on the bed. 

“The engineer returns,” her mother murmured, her voice thick and clouded. “Finished battling the tree house?”

Cautious, B’Elanna nodded, ready for a fight. “I’m sorry I didn’t come in sooner,” she lied. “Time got away from me.” 

“Lanna,” her mother said, looking into her eyes, “I know that days like today, that this day, they’re hard on you. Hard on both of us. And I know that this year, it’s the anniversary of your father’s cowardice. But, you do not need to follow in his footsteps. All I ask of you is that you are honest with me.”

That wasn’t true. Every time she was honest and told her mother she didn’t want to do the Klingon stuff, she got in trouble. How else was she supposed to get any time for herself unless she lied? Unless she snuck away? She had to hide everything because everything was too much or not enough and she hated everything. And she didn’t realize she was screaming this protest at her mother until her mother’s hand landed across her face in a slap that startled both of them. 

“I do not care how much you detest these rituals, and I am sorry that your father does not live up to some image you have in your mind. But you will not disrespect me or your people this way.”

“I don’t have people!” B’Elanna screamed at her. “Humans don’t want me and the only other Klingon I know is you. You and dad, you took that away from me.” 

Both of them stood there in shocked silence for a very long time, two women squaring off against their own demons. 

“Go to your room, B’Elanna. And stay there.” 

She didn’t want to. She wanted to grab her backpack and go sleep in her treehouse, but instead she obeyed. Sullen, B’Elanna walked to her bedroom and closed the door. Walking to the mirror, she stood in front of it, staring at the ridges on her forehead, the way her hair tangled in wild, uncontrolled waves. Her cheek was still read from her mother’s slap. She ran her hands up her back, feeling the ridged spine, and stared down at her shoes. Hidden inside her runners were her ridged feet. Awkward and misshapen and not good enough for either side of her culture. 

Nothing made any sense and she couldn’t look into it herself without getting in trouble and she couldn’t please her mother and her father didn’t want anything to do with her. Not a word since he left. Not a call or a note. Nothing. Nothing from Uncle Carl or her cousins. Nothing. Abandoned. Just left to her own devices. 

On her desk was a set of sonic scissors, meant to cut loose bits of wire and fabric. She grabbed them, adjusted the setting, and wrapped her long ponytail around her fist. In one smooth motion, she sliced through the hair and then pulled it down, out of the band. The cut was rough, but fell to her chin and, honestly, B’Elanna decided, didn’t look half bad. She had some credits in her account. She’d go get it smoothed out later. 

B’Elanna tossed the now loose hair into the trash bin and set the scissors back on her desk. Her mother talked often about how important long hair was to her people, how it was a mark of strength and courage. But B’Elanna wasn’t Klingon, not really. And she wasn’t human. Hybrids like her, they didn’t get some special instruction manual, and there wasn’t any honor in pretending otherwise. 

She ran a hand through her hair, changed into her favorite pjs, and curled up in bed with a book. The Day of Honor was dumb, and she was tired of pretending otherwise. 

**USS Voyager, 2375  
Delta Quadrant**

She’d lost track of how long she’d been sitting on her couch, wrapped in her blanket, staring at the perfectly delicate orchid on her table. There was the water decanter and two glasses and everything around her was so sterile, so Starfleet. Even the artwork was something she’d found in the database. Federation approved. What an embarrassment she was. What a disappointment. To her mother, to her father, to her grandmothers, to Tom. To herself. Maybe it could have been different if she hadn’t had such a shitty day, but really, every Day of Honor was pretty crappy when she thought about it. 

Her door chime beeped and B’Elanna winced. Tom. Dinner. God. “Come in?” She ventured. 

The door slid open to find Tom standing nervously on the other side. He stepped in, his posture hopeful. “I tried to find you before, but you were on the holodeck.” 

For a moment, she let herself revel in the lips she’d probably never kiss again. He’d be so disappointed when she found out she’d run away. He was so sweet and so generous and so much someone she could talk to and she’d never expected that of him and now he was going to hate her and she couldn’t handle that because she was falling in love with him and his love of random history and his holonovels and how he dipped his french fries in ice cream. 

But, he deserved an answer, so she stared at a point somewhere between her hands and the door. “That’s right.” 

“You know,” he was still anxious, “you left it running.” She watched him walk over to the red tunic she’d left on the table when she came back into her quarters. She’d planned to change. Planned to try dinner. Planned to tell him exactly how she felt. But why bother? So she’d curled up on the couch and now he was fingering the shirt she’d hoped he’d take off of her later and it just felt so … weird. Everything was weird. Maybe tomorrow she could just start over. Minus the heart of targ. “There was a Klingon in there who didn’t look too happy.” He folded the tunic - so Starfleet, and such a caretaker himself. When had they started doing that? Cleaning up after each other, creating reasons to be together - even if it was something as small as lingering with plates over dinner? 

“Really?” She watched him carefully. What was he going to do next?

“Yeah,” he walked over to one of her chairs, and set the tunic down on an end table by her bamboo plant, “and he was nursing a whale of a black eye. Looked like he had a run in with someone having a really bad day.” 

Okay, that gave her a hint of pride, but she wasn’t really in the mood to go over this right now. She was a coward, and this had only proved it. “That’s very funny.” 

_You are pouting, you petaQ._ Yeah, well, like usual, her inner voice was right. 

Tom was still fishing. “So … how did it go?”

B’Elanna waited a moment before replying, picking at the non-existent thread tags on the couch, trying to put the truth into words. “It didn’t,” she finally confessed. “Do you mind if we talk about something else?” Maybe if she told him how she felt, he’d let her off the hook. Or he’d run away. Either way, it wasn’t … this. 

He didn’t let her off the hook. No, he rolled his eyes at her and she felt the dagger in her gut. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he grumbled. He sat down next to her on the small couch and she felt his heat and his irritation and nope, this wasn’t going to be ignored, was it. “You have been like a spitting cobra all day and it’s getting boring.” 

Well, that was a slap across the face. What, was he somehow able to hear her inner voice. _Yes, Tom,_ she shouted at him in her mind, _I’m pouting. What of it!? Why do you care?!_

“You know, we designed that holodeck program together, and I think you owe me the courtesy of telling me what happened.” 

He had a point. She didn’t care. Her defenses were back up and she just wanted to cry. Gods, she was so tired. Just. So. Tired. If he wanted a cobra, she’d be a cobra. “It was ridiculous, meaningless posturing. Honor, dishonor, what does it matter?” she snapped, but she wasn’t snapping at him, not really. She was snapping at her mother and her father and every Klingon who ever told her that glory was only won in the bloodbath of your enemies. And she wanted Tom to hold her and tell her she’d done good work, she’d fought against the Borg and Species 8472 and the Cardassians. But, why would he do that if she kept needling him and if she didn’t needle him now he’d leave anyway. So anger it was. 

And then he answered in a way she didn’t expect and the discomfort only made her angrier and she hated him for it. Because he was right and how dare he know her this well? How dare he? “It matters because it’s part of who you are,” he shot back. In his eyes, she saw the man who stood up for her against the Vidiians, the man who held her hand when her human side was too scared to even move. He cared, and he didn’t want her shaking apart, and she didn’t know how to tell him to stop. “You’ve been running away from that your whole life.” 

Anger was so much easier than honesty. “Who are you to tell me that?” _Go on, Tom, fight me._

There it was. She’d pushed just a bit too hard. He stood up but leaned in just enough that she could almost reach him and tug him onto her and maybe they could fuck this out. Maybe she could think again. “I care about you.” The words hit. Hard. She heard what he was saying under them, felt the way he touched her, the way he kissed her. If he walked out now, was that it? 

_Say it!_

She didn’t say it. 

“But if you’re going to keep pushing me away, then there is no point in my staying around, is there?”

He was so angry and she recoiled back into herself, feeling as if he’d landed a blow similar to the one she’d dropped on the interrogator earlier. The rage bubble broke and she yelled back before the tears could fall. “Fine!” She faced him down. “Just leave me alone.” 

“Oh don’t worry,” his voice was dripping with anger and frustration and the tone she’d heard so often when her father yelled at her mother. “If this is the way you treat people who try to be your friend, you’ll be alone all right.” 

Friend. 

He’d said friend. 

So all the dates, all the sweet moments in the holodeck and in his quarters and over dinner … 

Friend. 

Didn’t matter if she said it now, did it? 

He stormed out and the breath escaped her body. She choked on tears and fear and rage and anger and she wanted to get up and race to the corridor and beg him to come back and she’d tell him the truth but the doors were closed and it didn’t matter anymore because he wasn’t coming back. Well. At least it was over now and not after she was so invested she couldn’t think of life without him. 

Problem was. She couldn’t think of life without him. 

“Computer,” B’Elanna gasped at the intercom. It beeped. “Delete Day of Honor program from my personal database.” A second beep told her the order had been carried out. 

This was one day she was never revisiting. Ever.


	8. 8.

**Kessick IV, 2361**

The plan was perfect. B’Elanna had already sent in the message to Administrator Malvin from her mother’s comm account. _B’Elanna is ill today. She will return to classes next week. Send her homework to her personal account._ That sounded Klingon enough. She’d deleted the outbox, erased any evidence of her tampering, and set off early leaving a note saying that she had an early morning class session and a project to work on after school so she’d be home late but she promised to do her scroll reading when she got back. Bag packed with food, a book, and an extra sweater because it was cold today, B’Elanna cut through the backyard to the woods beyond the house, not taking any risk of anyone seeing her. She’d spend the day in the caverns beyond the edge of town, and once it was past the time her mother would care about rituals and enemies, she’d go home. Just a day to herself. No one to bother her. No one teasing her. No boys asking if she bit when she kissed. No Turtlehead comments. No incense. No candles. No Kahless. Just her. 

It was an hour-long hike along the paths just inside the woods, and then she risked a bit of exposure as she crossed the streets at the edge of town. But by this point the shifts at the plant had changed and no one would really notice a kid running late for school. This part of town was about as far from her mother’s work, so no one would recognize her anyway. Her hat down on her head, covering the ridges as best she could, B’Elanna felt almost normal. 

She skirted around the fences of the power processing plants, stopping only to admire the pulsing lights of the core that kept the lights on and the replicators working. It was so cool to think that all of those atoms crashing together fueled everything around them. Someday, she’d work with engines and components. She’d build drives that went better and were stronger. All of the science books said that getting past warp 10 was only a theory but she knew, in her heart, it could be done. The ideas just hadn’t been put together with the right pieces yet. That was honorable, right Mom? 

To her right, she saw a security guard approach and B’Elanna took off before he could ask her what she was doing. Instinct told her he chased her for a bit, but didn’t care once she was away from the fences. Still, she kept running past the last street before the mountains sloped upward. B’Elanna scrambled up over the retaining wall and jumped down, landing easily. Lately, physical exertion was just easier for her. She ran faster and kicked harder. Her mother said she was coming of age for a Klingon, and that scared her. The human girls around her seemed so frail in comparison. Suzie bruised if you looked at her cross eyed. 

Up over the rocks, she slid down the smallest cluster of boulders before coming to the entrance of the dilithium caverns. The miners used the large crevice to access the minerals but she knew of a tiny little outcropping, away from anyone’s eyes, where she was sure she could hear the crystals sing. Finding a clean spot, she settled down, using her backpack as a pillow. This was planned perfectly. No one would come for her. She could survive the day alone. How was that for honor? She pulled out the PADD full of novels, her favorite jerky, and settled in to read. 

Today’s books were from Earth, ones she’d found in the library database when searching for stories about engineers. Most of the ones that came up seemed boring, but the title of this one caught her attention. _A Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet_. Written before humans had interstellar travel, but it was all about what might be out there and the characters were so much fun. She really liked Sissix and she had a crush on Kizzy. She’d done the research when she downloaded the book - at this time, humans were barely going to Mars and sending satellites and telescopes out into the solar system. Klingons already had warp travel. Not that she’d known that. Her classes at the Federation school focused so much on human history, so she did her Klingon research in the library. Maybe, someday, if her mother stopped putting so much pressure on her, she’d tell her all about her research. But the last thing B’Elanna wanted was a quiz on her mother’s people. 

The day passed, growing warmer as the sun hit the rocks and then dropping to a sharp cold when the day passed to evening. By now, she knew, her mother was probably starting to wonder when she’d be home, and the last thing B’Elanna needed was a search party. So she closed the PADD, shutting off the story of Pepper and Lovelace, and shoved her cap back on her head. 

Outside, she realized that in being caught up in her stories, she’d completely misjudged the time. The moon was high and the rocks were slick with the dew of evening. Carefully, B’Elanna navigated back up toward the retaining wall, but the dew made it harder to make the jump she’d made countless times before. When she finally managed to scale the wall, she slipped and went sliding back down the other side, landing hard on her wrist with a nasty crack. Pain shot up through her arm and she screamed in surprise. Damnit. Now she’d have to come up with a story about falling down on the way home from school. 

But she couldn’t worry about that now. The shift was changing and the road was crowded and a half-Klingon kid with a broken wrist was a little harder to hide right now than when no one was around. She couldn’t stop and linger at the reactor core, or take her time wandering through the woods. A transport was parked, letting on shift workers, and B’Elanna hopped on and hoped her school ID would keep them from asking her questions. Most of the shift workers looked tired and no one cared that a kid was crammed in among them. No one except the driver, who kept staring at her, and then got on his comm radio, and B’Elanna’s gut told her she was sunk. 

At the stop nearest her house, she climbed off the transport only to find her mother standing there with two officers from the security force. B’Elanna stared at her mother, waiting for the explosion, but something worse happened. She only turned to the officers with a nod. “Thank you for your help. I have her now.” 

The officers nodded and left them. B’Elanna stared up at her mother, ready to apologize, ready to come up with some excuse, but she didn’t have one. She’d just wanted to be alone. Her mother didn’t say anything to her. She just walked down the street, her long legs making it so B’Elanna had to run to keep up. She might be maturing faster than the other girls, but she was still small. Human genes won that battle. Her mother didn’t say anything and B’Elanna wondered when was the right time to let her know she’d broken her wrist because the running really hurt. But her mother didn’t say anything, so she didn’t either. All she knew was that she was more frightened now than any time her mother had yelled at her, including when she’d cut her hair off last year. 

Inside the house, B’Elanna sank to a chair and her mother put a brace in front of her. “You’re old enough to go off on your own and not tell me where you are, you’re old enough to set a broken bone yourself.” So, she’d noticed. “I’ll talk you through it.” 

And she did, and B’Elanna screamed as the bone in her wrist set back into place and she took the brace her mother gave her and put it on her arm. “You don’t need a doctor for something that small. You’re a Klingon.” Still, a pain killer would have been nice, but B’Elanna didn’t say anything. She just sat and waited for her punishment. Her mother didn’t offer food, she didn’t send her to her room, she just put a glass of water in front of her. B’Elanna drank. 

“What have I told you, Lanna?” her mother finally asked.

She wanted to be flippant and tell her mother that she got told a lot of things, but she knew exactly what her mother was reaching for. So, she swallowed nervously. “You have always wanted me to be honest.” 

“Were you honest today?”

“No.” 

“Why not?”

She took another sip of the water. The throbbing in her wrist was dying down. “Because I thought you’d say no if I said I didn’t want to do anything today.” 

Silence. Her mother sighed. “You’re probably right. But now, we won’t know.” She stood and paced the kitchen. B’Elanna shrank in on herself. “Go to your room,’ her mother finally said. “Just … go.” 

B’Elanna nodded and grabbed her backpack and ran upstairs. In her room, she shut the door and changed into her pjs and pulled on the sweater she’d brought with her to the caverns. It had been her father’s and in her mind, it still smelled like him. Just a bit. She was tired and scared and sure still that her mother was going to come in and beat the hell out of her. That was what Klingons did to their enemies, right? But there was nothing. No rage, no lecturing. Just the quiet tones of her mother putting the house to sleep, her steps past B’Elanna’s door, and then nothing. When it had been quiet for an hour, B’Elanna poked her head out, but her mother’s door was closed so B’Elanna closed her own and went to bed, and laid perfectly still until sunrise. 

**USS Voyager, 2375  
Delta Quadrant**

B’Elanna did what the women of her people had been doing since the dawn of time - she washed her face, oiled her hair back into place, and went back to work. Her worry about having to work this evening had turned into a full scale expectation as she came back on shift to lead the trans-warp corridor experiment. And as much as she hated that this was coming from Borg technology, she couldn’t deny the excitement of trying something new. She’d been dreaming about speeds like this since she was a kid and despite the warp ten experiment of a few years ago ending with such disastrous results, she knew there were ways to make this happen. So, here she was, taking advice and direction from a former drone who probably just wanted to assimilate Voyager, but if it got her back to her friends in the alpha quadrant that much sooner, she was completely on board. 

Seven stood at the warp core station, B’Elanna’s favorite spot, and B’Elanna tried not to care that Tom was standing so near to her. He had a reason to be here, it was his ship to pilot and he needed to understand the readings as they came in real time, but seeing him so soon after their fight just made her ache. Maybe after this was done, she’d tempt him with dinner on the holodeck at one of those Mexican places he liked and they’d share a pitcher of beer and some nachos and she’d confess why she was such a disaster of a person. But first they had to get through this test. 

“All systems are ready,” Seven of Nine said in that robotic voice of hers.

B’Elanna stalked past both of them. “We’re only going to take a peek,” she ordered. “We open a conduit, get as much sensor data as we can,” she turned to face them, “and then close it up.” A breath. A plan. This was her comfort zone. This was her engine room. This was her place where no one could touch her. “I want to take this one step at a time.” 

Across the core column, Vorik was doing his job. Vorik, good old Vorik, with his interminable crush and his perfect attention to detail and his job. Right now, she appreciated him more than he’d ever understand. “I’ve set up a temporary tachyon matrix within the main deflector. It’s on line.” 

Good. Perfect. She could do this. This was her playground. “Engineering to the Bridge,” she said as she tapped her comm badge. “We’re ready to start, Captain.” 

“Go ahead,” came the captain’s gravelly voice, “we’ll monitor your progress from here.” 

B’Elanna breathed a sigh of relief. If she had anything, she had the Captain’s trust.

Stalking around the core, B’Elanna kept giving orders, “We’ll need to be at warp speed to create a large enough subspace field. I’d like to re-route help control to Engineering.” That was why Tom was here, was it not?

“Agreed. Janeway out.” 

Now the mission was in her hands. B’Elanna came all the way around the core and looked at Tom again. “Take us past --”

“Past warp two,” he said, his voice still heavy. “I know.” God. Just be professional, Tom. 

He took the helm controls and met her eyes and every part of her hurt. Was all of this really over before it had begun? 

Focus, B’Elanna. Worry about Tom later. The ship zipped to a measly warp two and B’Elanna pressed her toes into the deck plating as she always did when they moved past the light barrier. She loved the first rush of warp. 

“We’re at warp 2.3,” Tom called out. B’Elanna dropped her eyes from her tricorder and moved back to the secondary station. “All right. Vorik, start emitting the tachyons.” 

“Energizing the matrix,” he confirmed as his station beeped. 

B’Elanna moved back to the borg. “There’s no indication of a subspace field,” she reported, clearly confused. “I recommend switching to a higher energy band,” came the suggestion. B’Elanna couldn’t argue. She nodded to Vorik, who followed her orders. The console tones changed. 

“That did something,” Tom reported. B’Elanna looked at him, watching for any news. 

“The subspace field is forming,” Seven of Nine said. But as she said it, alarms started to blare. 

Fuck. 

B’Elanna pushed her out of the way, seeing for herself what the alarms were reporting. “Tachyon particles are leaking into the propulsion system!” she hollered to her staff. Instantly, everyone in engineering began to move. If this wasn’t corrected, the whole system could blow. 

“Shut down the deflector,” Tom hollered.

“Done,” Vorik stated, “but the leak is continuing.” 

The ship rocked. A conduit blew. The smell of plasma exhaust started to fill the air. 

“Janeway to Engineering!” 

“Tachyons are flooding the warp core, Captain!” B’Elanna reported, trying to keep the panic from her voice. She could fix this. She had to fix this. They could shut it down before they had to break the warp field by ejecting the core. But she had to eject the core before it was too late to repair. One-hundred and fifty people were counting on her to make the right choice. Take that, Warriors. 

Now, to make the right choice. 

“If you can’t stabilize the core immediately, evacuate Engineering.” 

“Aye, Captain. I’ll get back to you.” She had work to do. 

Vorik was talking. “I’ve cut all power relays, but the tachyon levels are still rising.” 

Think, B’Elanna. Think. 

First though, evacuate. She wasn’t risking any of them. Turning to her crew, she hollered the order that all engineers knew to follow without question. “All right! Everybody out! Now!” She turned back to where Seven of Nine was trying to work and pushed her aside. Under her anger, she knew it wasn’t completely the borg’s fault. She knew they should have done more research before even attempting this. And as much as she hated the woman, she wasn’t going to be responsible for her death. “That means you as well,” she ordered.

The borg resisted. “I could be of help.” 

No. This was her baby. This was her core. “That’s an order!” Thankfully, Seven of Nine complied. 

But then Tom was at her side and she stared at him. “You can’t order me. I outrank you.” 

She wasn’t about to get into a pissing match about who outranked who in her section of the ship. Not when they were all about to die. So, she let him have the controls and she ducked under the railing and moved closer to her temperamental baby. “We’ve got to neutralize the core,” she said. 

“I’ll try decoupling the dilithium matrix.” 

If that didn’t work, they would have to dump the core to break the warp field and just hope they - and the antimatter - all survived the shock. “No effect! Try it again!” She looked at the glowing reactor. Come on, baby. I know you’re tired but work just this one time for me and I promise you can have a couple of days off while I realign everything. More coolant leaked from the injectors and the ship rocked violently. B’Elanna balanced herself on the base. 

“It’s not working!” Tom yelled out the blatantly obvious. “The core is about to breach!”

She had it! She knew what would work! She just needed the minute she probably didn’t have. “I’ve got to try one more thing!” If she realigned the plasma facilitators to process the tachyons, they wouldn’t have to eject and all she needed was the start one going and the rest would fall in line. But they could all hear the matrix racing to overload and the coolant was leaking more and more and her skin was starting to peel. 

“B’Elanna, there’s no time!” Tom’s hands were on her. “We’ve got to get out of here!” He was right but she needed one minute but it wasn’t going to work. Damnit! “Come on!” He ordered. 

Giving up, B’Elanna erred on the side of saving the people on the ship and hoped the core would survive the dump. “Computer, prepare to eject the warp core,” she ordered. The computer beeped the comply, waiting for her authorization code. “Authorization: Torres Omega 5-9-3!” The computer beeped again and she and Tom dove beyond the blast doors. B’Elanna gave one last command as she slid down the wall. “Computer, eject the warp core.” 

One last beep and twitter from the computer and the core dropped from the ship. B’Elanna closed her eyes, feeling the reactor fall into space, wishing she was there with it. The inertial dampers caught Voyager as the warp field burst and the ship listed into open space, and because they were all alive it meant the core hadn’t exploded and that once the reactor was no longer being bombarded with tachyons, it was slightly more stable. Hopefully, they could retrieve it, repair it, and she’d still have her job at the end of it all. 

But they were all alive. 

She tapped her comm badge. “Torres to Janeway,” she said. 

“Go ahead.” 

“We’ve dumped the core.” The words were bitter in her mouth and she felt the weight of disappointment of every one of her engineers. If they couldn’t find it and repair it, they were dead in the water and living here until some nice ship came along to destroy them. All for a peek at a new technology. “Welcome to the worst day of my life,” she said, without a hint of self-pity. Really, it was true. At least they were all alive.


	9. 9.

**Q'onoS, 2362**

Was it dishonorable to let anyone know how scared she was? Probably. But in her entire life, B’Elanna had never seen so many Klingons. Sitting on the retaining wall between the street and the courtyard of her cousin’s home in the coastal town of Kel’Pah, B’Elanna was absolutely sure she was going to be swallowed up and forgotten amid the crushing press of … her own people. 

She’d seen plenty of photos and holos and vids of the homeworld. She’d known of the grand, sweeping concourses and streets, how the stones were polished to shine in the suns. But still, B’Elanna had kind of expected dirty, dark alleys and poorly lit walkways. The holos and vids hadn’t done the beauty of the homeworld justice, and her jaw clenched every time she thought of how she’d been taught of Q'onoS. Her people, her mother’s people, were stunning. And, also, terrifying. There was more raw energy here than she’d ever felt in her life. Tonight, in preparation of the coming rituals, the streets of Kel’Pah were lined with torches and the rising smoke from street vendor carts made her mouth water. Klingons gathered together in varying states of regalia, cheering and celebrating. She caught snippets of conversation - of boasting of battles fought in the name of the Empire. 

But what was the Empire to someone like her? 

What struck her, more than anything - including the smell of leather and oil - was how varied the people around her were. She’d been expecting everyone to have her mother’s waist-length tresses, but some of the Klingons didn’t even have hair and B’Elanna couldn’t help but stare at the elongated skulls and ridges that went all the way to the apex. Her skull was so much rounder than all of theirs. Some were tattooed on their faces, others wore jewels on their ridges. A few had ridges even less pronounced than her own. B’Elanna pressed a trembling hand to the jewels on her own ridges, jewels her mother had pressed her into wearing. Suddenly, they didn’t seem too terrible and she wanted a mirror again. Would she look as pretty as the girl across the street, who was wearing a dress of red that looked like rubies and whose ridge crown glowed like diamonds in the firelight? 

Not everyone was in armor. In fact, most were wearing clothing just like her own. Women wore ankle length skirts and ankle boots and leather vests. Chains clinked as they walked. Men were in leather pants and tunics and despite almost everyone carrying a dagger at their belt, it didn’t feel violent. In fact, there was almost a freedom to it that she knew she wouldn’t feel back on Kessick. But she never felt freedom on Kessick. Would she feel it here? 

An agonized scream caught her attention and B’Elanna jumped to her feet, staring down the street. Four boys, barely her age it seemed, were poking each other with small versions of the ritual paintstiks. What would happen when they saw her? Would they come after her? Would she be expected to go with them? 

Suddenly needing to be inside, B’Elanna scooted back over the wall and raced into the house. Inside the atrium, she stood next to the tangled trees, watching as the boys walked by. What would it be like to be around boys her age who didn’t make fun of her ridges? But, would they make fun of them anyway? If she knew anything about her mother’s people, it was that pronounced ridges were a sign of honor and strength. And she didn’t know anything about the rituals and she didn’t like the paintstiks. They scared her. 

B’Elanna made her way deeper into the house, following the voices to the kitchen. Her mother was standing at the tall counter in the middle of the largest room of the house, folding dough around thick pieces of meat. Her cousin Belreth stood over the fire, dropping the chabs into bubbling oil. “I told you when you married him that he was a cowardly p’taq,” Belreth was lecturing. B’Elanna froze. “And not because he’s human. There’s many humans with some sense of honor, even if it’s their own strange sense of whatever they hold to that.” Both women chuckled. “But, Miral, he didn’t even want to marry you here, on the homeworld. He didn’t want your mother to challenge his claim of you. How often did you visit once B’Elanna was born?”

Her mother was silent for a long time. B’Elanna stood still, listening. 

“You make it sound like he cowed me into fear.” 

“I am telling you what it appears to be, Miral. I’m not saying you were made into a coward by your human husband, but perhaps, he was a throwback and reminder to how our people felt about humanity when we first encountered them. Spineless. Ridgeless. Wanting to always be in control. And, let’s face it, you aren’t exactly the most forceful of women.” 

B’Elanna wrinkled her nose. Her mother not forceful? That didn’t make any sense. Her mother was the most forceful person she knew. Her mother’s rage had been a lot of what made her father leave. 

“You have a point,” her mother sighed, handing over a tray of dough. “My mother’s greatest sadness.” Both of them chuckled. Belreth poured them both something that looked like blood wine and they moved to the table. “What worries me is B’Elanna though.” 

“She seems like she is doing fine. A bit quiet for a Klingon perhaps, but you’ve raised her among humans. It’s clear she’s got a rage streak to be proud of.” 

“My worry is the hero worship she had for her father. He never wanted her to embrace her Klingon heritage, and now she’s angry at him and angry and me …” her mother growled. “And there are so few hybrids to connect her to. She’s so smart, smarter than all of the other children in her classes.” 

“I’ve been telling you, you should move her back here. There are hybrids here, and we are not a city of warriors. She can study with children like her, and finally pick up on some of our customs. Miral, she’s never going to fit in with humans. Not completely.” 

“Will our people truly recognize her?”

“Bluntly? If you raise her here, her human side is more likely to be forgiven. She’s got ridges and passion. Our people will welcome her. There are hybrids who have rose to prominence. What about k'Ehleyr? She’s truly a queen of our people.” 

B’Elanna furrowed her brow. There were hybrids who were honored in her people? 

Silence again, they drank their wine. “Perhaps it is a question for the interrogators tonight.” Her mother said. “I’ve got one more year dedicated to this project on Kessick. Then … maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time to come home.” She snorted. “And maybe by then, everyone will have forgotten that I married some human.”

“Drop the last name, reclaim the women of your house again. You are a daughter of L’Rell, You do not need some human male’s claim to his lineage.” 

“I don’t want to do that to B’Elanna.”

“She’s old enough to decide how she wants her name presented to her people - both Klingon and human. Give your daughter some credit.” They both drank from the wine again. “Don’t let your fear of what John did drive you from your daughter as well. Fear is the root of all evil because fear, when not confronted, turns into cowardice.” 

“What I’m worried about is that my own fear has turned into cowardice.” 

“So, be honest with your daughter. Tell her that you loved her father, but married him for the wrong reasons. Pregnancy is no reason to enter into a union as sacred as marriage. Show her that it is natural to feel fear. She’s going to grow up thinking Klingons don’t feel fear and then when she does, she will believe she is not worthy of Kahless.” 

“I wouldn’t have my daughter be illegitimate. It is one thing for the women of our family to claim no house, it is another for the children to have to seek out their own power.”

“If B’Elanna had been a boy, you wouldn’t have married him. You would have been fine with having a human lover and tossing him away when you were bored. You’re as much a victim of our people’s backwards mentality as she is.” 

“I don’t like you when you’re right,” her mother shot back. B’Elanna’s stomachs just sank lower and lower. “L’Rell never had to marry Voq.” 

“Voq was murdered. She had a reason not to marry him.” Belreth shook her head. “You know, maybe it’s time to teach her of her lineage. She’s coming of age, Miral.”

“Every time I bring it up, she finds reasons to be anywhere but with me, and I’m tired of fighting with an angry Klingon teenager.” Her mother sounded so tired. 

“Does she have any appreciation of our culture?”

“More than she realizes. But when I point it out to her, she pushes back. I have to let her come to her own understanding. Right now, for her, it’s all warriors and fighting and food she actually doesn’t like that much. She definitely inherited her father’s tastes.” 

“That will change as she matures. She’ll need more of our protein to keep her system healthy.” Belreth was quiet. “How are you teaching her?”

“I’ve tried everything, but she always pushes back. I’ve just started leaving books and artifacts lying around. She’s a curious child. She will explore.” Her mother was quiet for a while. “I’ve thought about sending her to Boreth, but she’s still a bit young.” 

“She’d be welcomed.” 

“I know.” 

Belreth stood and went to the fire to retrieve the chab pieces. B’Elanna stood still, wondering what it all meant, but she also didn’t want to charge in and ask questions and reveal that she’d been listening in. When the older women stopped talking, B’Elanna counted to one hundred before gathering her own courage and walking in to join the older women. 

“Lanna!” her mother smiled at her. “Come on over and have a sip of blood wine. You’re old enough.”

She obeyed and took a small sip, wincing as the harsh alcohol hit her senses. “That’s disgusting,” she couldn’t help herself from saying. “Do you drink that so the paintstiks don’t hurt as much?”

Both women burst out laughing and her mother took the goblet back. It was loud and raucous and B’Elanna wasn’t sure if they were laughing at her or what she said. “You know,” Belreth said, handing her a dumpling, “that is probably where the tradition comes from.” Her acknowledgement made B’Elanna smile just a bit. “And it does help with the length of the ceremony. Are you ready to face the interrogator tonight, B’Elanna?”

She rolled her eyes at her cousin, trying not to think too hard about what she’d overheard. “I’m thirteen. How do I have enemies to beat down? It isn’t like I’m out there fighting or anything.”

“What have your successes been?”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t seen battle, but you’ve had your fair share of challenges to overcome.” 

B’Elanna stared at the dumpling in her hand. “What’s in this?”

“Heart of targ. Caught myself.” Belreth was clearly proud of herself. “And I hold that to my honor.”

B’Elanna stared at the dumpling, only seeing her beloved Toby the Targ lying on a plate. But, she steeled herself and took a bite. It was thick but tender and she liked the dough. “But the interrogator asks if we’ve done anything for the Empire and I haven’t done anything for the Empire.”

“Always questioning,” Belreth said. “You know, you’re a lot like your mother.” B’Elanna shot her mother a look, wondering if she’d ever bother to tell her the truths B’Elanna was now aware of. 

“So, what do I say?”

Belreth sat at the table and B’Elanna took her own seat. The beads on her ridge jewelry brushed against her skin. She watched her cousin and waited for the answer to her question. “No one can tell you what to say, B’Elanna. The answers aren’t even for the interrogator. They’re for you.”

“Then why go through the ritual at all?”

Belreth smiled. “Because there is something powerful about doing something for yourself, but facing others in the process. These traditions have been a part of our people for over four hundred years, and many scrolls say that they were in place before Kahless took to the battlefield. These traditions are a part of us.” 

Wrinkling her nose, B’Elanna just focused on the table where they were sitting. “But what if I don’t like weapons and candles and everything?”

Belreth reached across the table and tucked her finger under B’Elanna’s chin. She looked up into the dark eyes of her cousin. “Someday, B’Elanna, someday this will matter to you. And you will know and understand and respect how terrifying and glorious it is to be Klingon. We are on a journey, our entire lives. There is no one moment of enlightenment. No one moment where everything makes sense. And that is what this is about. You don’t have to be a warrior, but if you choose not to be, you must remember that we are always battling against the universe. And if you make that journey alone, it will be far more lonely than you are ready to understand.” 

B’Elanna couldn’t say anything. She just pulled away and looked at the candle burning in the window. Nothing made sense right now, and she just wasn’t sure honor was exactly what they were all aiming for. Her dress was pretty and she liked the jewelry but if the only way to honor the empire was through violence, she just wasn’t sure she was cut out to be Klingon. 

**USS Cochrane, 2375  
Delta Quadrant**

She had to give Janeway credit. The captain hadn’t chastised her when B’Elanna snarked that she’d sent the borg back to her alcove, and she hadn’t placed any of the necessary blame on B’Elanna’s shoulders. Instead, she’d just listened to options and sent her and Tom out to retrieve the core and see what repairs they could do in the moment. Now, of course, she was stuck in a shuttle with Tom, but if he could be professional, so could she. 

The shuttle shook and she checked the controls. “We’re getting near some random ion turbulence.” 

“I’ll change course to avoid it.” 

The shuttle stopped trembling and B’Elanna released a breath she’d been holding since telling the captain they didn’t even have impulse engines. Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms. “I wonder what else can go wrong today.” She looked over at Tom. “If we get this core back, I’m going right to bed and sleeping straight through till tomorrow.” Whatever tomorrow meant. She might not get any sleep for two days. “Get this day over with,” she muttered. 

Tom chuckled and she wanted to punch him. Or kiss him. “Well, look at it this way - how much worse could it get? Having to dump the core has to be the low point of any day.” 

He’d jinxed it. Did he realize he’d jinxed it? 

“Maybe it’s me …” B’Elanna sighed and gave in to her self-pity. With Tom, it was easy to just whine a bit more. “Maybe I’m asking for this trouble somehow.”

“Or maybe it’s just a string of bad luck.” 

She appreciated the effort, but it was a string of luck dating back a decade. 

The computer beeped and B’Elanna sat forward a bit. Tom checked his readouts. “Sensors have picked up a polymetallic object … could be the core.” 

It sure as hell better be the core. She confirmed the readings. “That’s the warp signature, all right.” She checked the screen again. “But there’s something else out there … a ship …” oh damnit. Had scavengers beat them to it? Would they take Tom as a trade? “According to sensors it has the same energy signature as the Caatati ships.” Oh, really, now this was interesting. 

“Maybe they’re guarding it for us,” Tom offered. God, was he always so full of sunshine and roses? Please tell her that was sarcasm. 

“Right …” she said, not bothering to hide her cynicism.

He chuckled and she looked over at him for half a second before focusing on the readings. “I see it,” Tom said. And there they were, a tiny shuttle up against a full size ship with a complement of weapons, and they had her precious warp core in their tractored clutches. Well, not today. Borg refugees or no, that was her core and it kept her people alive, and she wasn’t giving up without a fight. “What do they think they’re doing?” Tom asked, his voice a bit stunned. 

“They’re trying to put a tractor beam on it!” B’Elanna fought for breath. The Caatati were going to destroy everything. 

Tom didn’t miss a beat. “This is the shuttle Cochrane to the Caatati vessel. Please respond!” 

They did. “Don’t come any closer,” the desperate voice came across the speakers. “We’re performing a salvage operation.” 

“Oh,” Tom said, his voice full of the sarcasm she actually loved, “what a coincidence, so are we.” 

“I’m afraid we got here first,” was the response. “Don’t interfere or we’ll open fire.” 

B’Elanna felt her blood run cold. “Don’t you realize that core is highly unstable? If you try to tractor it like that you could cause an antimatter explosion.” 

Silence. Tom tried to reopen the channel. “They’re not answering.” 

“Idiots!” She swallowed the bile that was rising in her throat. 

“We have to stop them from destroying the core,” Tom said, the captain of the obvious. But he was right. 

B’Elanna turned to the secondary console. ‘I’m going to try to disrupt their tractor beam,” she told him. She sent a pulse from the shuttle to the beam, focusing on the power stream and not the ship itself. She didn’t want to destabilize either the Caatati ship or the core any further. 

“It’s working,” Tom reported. But then the shuttle started to shake and she flashed on his comment about how the day couldn’t possibly get any worse. She had a feeling it was about to get a hell of a lot worse. She was a ship’s engineer. She knew when a hull was about to go. Fuck. “What was that?” Tom asked. 

B’Elanna felt her stomachs drop all over again. “They sent an antimatter pulse back through our particle beam.” Did he realize how bad that was because she did. 

Well, if he didn’t the computer was about to tell him. “Warning,” the voice intoned, “the structural integrity field has been compromised.” The shuttle was starting to shake. “Now at 53% and falling. Hull breach in two minutes, twenty seconds.” 

The shaking grew stronger. “Reroute power from the propulsion and weapons systems,” she commanded. 

“Warning,” the computer interrupted, “hull breach in two minutes, ten seconds.”

“No effect,” Tom called back. B’Elanna tried one last thing, but like with the core, it just wasn’t going to work. 

“Warning. The structural integrity field has collapsed. Hull breach in two minutes.” 

“We have to get out of here!” Tom called. 

And go where, B’Elanna wanted to retort. But he was right. They could survive outside with their evac suits and Voyager wasn’t far. 

“Warning. Hull breach in one minute, fifty seconds …” 

Tom darted for the evac suits and B’Elanna followed. There was nothing else to do except hope that the Caatati didn’t take off with their unstable core. So she took the suit and followed Tom’s lead. In this, Starfleet for once had the upper hand. They trained for this a hell of a lot more than the maquis did. 

The Caatati took off with the core. Well, this was a nice region of space to die in. 

Tom was, however, focused as usual on survival. She respected that about him, really. “Computer, send a distress call to Voyager. Give them our coordinates.” Nothing. “Computer, respond.” Nothing. 

“The com systems must be down,” B’Elanna noted, needlessly. Why were Federation comm signals so damn finickey? 

Tom didn’t argue. He just touched the control panels. “Transporters are still online. Stand by to energize.” B’Elanna tapped the controls on her suit, Tom connected them together with the contact line. “Energize.” 

And like that, her day that couldn’t get any worse … did. 

They beamed into space as the shuttle exploded, sending debris out toward their location, and in the blink of an eye, they were stranded out among the stars, hoping that a ship wouldn’t run over them and that Voyager could find them. “Really,” she said to Tom as they stabilized, “you jinxed it.” 

He only laughed. It was comforting.


	10. 11.

**Kessick IV, 2363**

Her favorite “human food”? Other than banana pancakes or fresh mango? (Well, freshly replicated mango?) Grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon and tomato and really thick cut steak fries with rosemary and garlic dipping sauce. With prune juice. Prune juice was so good. Her mother wasn’t that much a fan of human food and now that her father was gone, they rarely ate it. B’Elanna ate human food for lunch at school, and whenever her mother worked late she replicated herself a salad and some fruit. The doctor at her last checkup had lectured her and her mother that her hybrid metabolism needed more than bacon to maintain itself, especially now that she’d reached biological maturity, but that didn’t change how so many Klingon dishes made her stomach churn. 

Tonight, though, tonight there was no fight about food. She’d replicated a perfect grilled cheese sandwich and some mango and the largest glass of cold prune juice she could imagine. Tonight, B’Elanna was celebrating the Day of Honor all by herself. Her mother was back on the homeworld with her cousin Belreth, and B’Elanna knew they were making preparations to move back to Q'onoS and that was fine. She wasn’t looking forward to living with only Klingons but she was tired of the people here on Kessick. Anyway, only another couple of years and she could go anywhere she wanted. Lately, Starfleet Academy had been on her mind. There was another Klingon in Starfleet and he was doing okay, according to the records. She’d survived fourteen years on Kessick. Two on Q'onoS wouldn’t kill her. 

B’Elanna took her plate and glass out to the table in the backyard. It was cooler than she really liked, but her sweater was warm and she’d lit the fire, even tossing some incense in to keep the demons away, so she would be fine for a little while. She had a new novel to read - a romance she’d downloaded from the Klingon library - and all that mattered tonight was her enjoying the parts she liked about Klingon culture. A part of her knew that her mother expected her to at least read one of the scrolls, to meditate on the challenges she’d overcome and that same part of her knew she probably would later. But she’d been looking forward to this dinner all week long. Since her mother left for the homeworld, she’d behaved. She’d had the right meals, she’d done her homework, she had even kept herself from punching Daniel and Gavin when they taunted her during recess the other day. She had kicked the soccer ball into Gavin’s stomach, but he’d deserved it. 

Settling in, she quickly lost herself in the women warriors of the grand islands, and the consorts they discovered. Her favorite story was that of Lady K’Alor and her consort, Shirath, who was tall and beautiful and her tanned skin always dappled with dew when she went to her lover’s bed. What would it be like to always have your skin be dappled with dew? Lady K’Alor was a warrior queen, sent from the Gods to protect the people of Q'onoS and Shirath fought bravely at her side. They traveled the world together, taking down errant demi-gods and once, even challenging the apparition of Kahless himself. Always at the end of the battles - and sometimes the night before one - Shirath and her lover always made love in ways that fascinated B’Elanna. This was stuff her mother had never told her. Yes, upon biological maturity, she’d been told of the mating rituals of her people, that her blood would rise and she would claim her mate (ew) with a bite that would allow her to taste their blood (ew!). _There is a tradition that you will marry the one you mate with first, B’Elanna._ Her mother had rolled her eyes at that. _Don’t let some idiot soldier with visions of warrior children let you fall for that. Have some fun. And don’t do anything before you’re ready. Also … remember you don’t have to go through the mating ritual to simply enjoy a lover._

B’Elanna had only frowned. Why is everything with our people always a ritual? 

She’d been sent to her room after that. After reading the stories of Sirath and K’Alor, the biting thing didn’t sound so bad. With the right Klingon. Or the right … anyone. There was a new Bajoran girl in her class - the only one around. Toralt Kejal, but she’d been introduced to the class as Toralt. She was a refugee, Mr. Calin said, and they’d spent a whole class talking about the Cardassian occupation of Bajor and Kejal had looked so uncomfortable. After class, B’Elanna had run to catch up with her, and apologized for the class being so stupid. “So many humans, they don’t think sometimes. I’m sorry you got sent away from your homeworld.” 

Kejal had only rolled her eyes and stopped in the hallway. She met B’Elanna’s eyes and B’Elanna had stopped breathing for a minute. Kejal was so pretty. She had black hair and green eyes and her nose ridges went all the way up past her eyebrows. Her skin was tan, like B’Elanna’s, and they were almost the same size even though Kejal was really thin. “My name is Kejal,” she’d said. “Not Toralt. Toralt is my family name. Humans always get it wrong.” 

“My people don’t have family names,” B’Elanna said. “We’re always so and so from the house of some stupid man.” Kejal laughed and B’Elanna’s heart soared. “But my dad’s human so my mom took a last name and now it’s really weird.” 

“What is your name?” Kejal’s accent through the universal translator was like music. 

“B’Elanna,” she said. “B’Elanna Torres.” 

“It’s nice to meet you.” Since then, they’d been inseparable at school. 

Was it wrong that when B’Elanna read the stories of K’Alor and Shirath, she envisioned herself and Kejal? Was it wrong that a part of her wanted to bite Kejal and see what happened? 

She finished off the last of the mango as the fire died down, and rather than let the cold enter her bones, B’Elanna got up and walked back into the house. The message light on the comm was flashing, most likely her mother, and B’Elanna stared at it for a long moment before giving up and pressing play. Better get it over with. 

_Glorious Day of Honor, Sweetheart,_ her mother’s voice came through the comm as her face appeared. _I hope you’re having a good time. And, I know you hate it, but will you please at least look at what I left for you to do? If nothing else, light a candle for your grandmother, L’Naan. Light one for abuela Paola, too. She’d appreciate that._ Okay, that she could do. _Get your homework done. I’ll be home in a couple of days. I have some things to discuss with you._ Whenever her mother had things to talk about, there was always a fight. But maybe it was something easy. _I love you. Have a good night._

B’Elanna erased the message and sent a _Was outside, I’ll light the candles_ text back, and she did just that. Putting her plate and glass into the recycler, she wandered into the living room and grabbed the lighter from the mantle. She’d planned to just light the candles and go back to her book, but instead she took a breath and focused on the image of L’Naan. She was such a tall, powerful woman. Red hair that always escaped its braid, leather bracers on her wrists, a dagger at her waist. She’d both terrified and excited B’Elanna as a little girl, and she did regret not getting to know her better. Not like abuela Paola, who had loved her so much. Had L’Naan felt the same way? Or was she ashamed of her mongrel grandchild? 

Before she could light the candles, there was a knock on the door. Frowning, B’Elanna wandered over and opened it, finding Kejal standing on the stoop. “Hey …” she said, nervous. “What’s up?”

“I just needed to wander. My dad’s working late and …” she shrugged. “After being in a refugee camp, I don’t do very well being alone anymore.” 

“Come on in. My mom’s offworld right now, so it’s just me. Is that okay?”

“As long as it is for you.” 

Kejal stepped inside and B’Elanna watched her look around, taking in the Klingon tapestries and the candles on the mantle. Would she laugh? Would she make fun of the faith like so many of her classmates did? Like her father had? Instead, she put her fingers up on the candle. “A prayer for the dead?” she asked. 

“Yeah. It’s the Plea for the Dead. The living have to make pleas for the dead so they can get into the afterlife.” She was tempted to roll her eyes, to brush it off, but Kejal didn’t laugh. “When someone we love dies, we pray the death chant. It can go on for hours and sometimes even days. We’re praying for our loved ones to be able to enter the Celestial Temple and walk with the Prophets.” She shook her head. “The Cardassians outlawed it. If they hear us praying it, they beat us. My ma, she was praying for my grandmother, and the soldiers in the camp came over and beat her until she couldn’t talk and then they took her away from us.” 

B’Elanna stood, stunned. This wasn’t in the lecture they’d been given on the Occupation in school. “I’m so sorry, Kejal.” 

“The resistance cell that got us off the planet, they told me they think she’s still alive. That she was taken to a Cardassian soldier camp …. to …” she didn’t need to finish. B’Elanna got the idea. 

“Have you spent your whole life in camps?”

“Pretty much.” Kejal was still staring at the holo of L’Naan. The resistance are the only people trying to get people off the planet, but it’s really dangerous. If the Cardassians catch you in Bajoran space, they’ll capture the ship and take everyone to the mining camps.” She sighed. “Prophets, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to just come in here and vent.” 

“It’s okay.” B’Elanna stared at Kejal. “Do you want to maybe learn the Plea for the Dead? It’s pretty simple and then you can teach me the Death Chant and we can pray for people we love and hope they’re okay.” 

Kejal smiled. “I’d like that. If that’s okay.” 

“Of course it is. It’s the Day of Honor and I don’t know of anything more honorable than helping someone feel better.” She opened the cupboard and pulled out the rug her mother used when kneeling for the Plea. “I’ll light the candles. Wait.” She reached back in and pulled out a third candle and put it on the hearth. She lit the ones for her grandmothers and then handed the lighter to Kejal. “That one is for your family.” 

A smile lit Kejal’s eyes and she took the lighter and lit the candle. “Thank you,” she said, settling back on the rug. 

B’Elanna knelt next to her, trying not to take her hand or think about how Kejal’s collar bone was so enticing. She just put her hands on her thighs. “Okay, so the Plea for the Dead is really simple.” She took a breath, and as the words came out, she realized that no, it wasn’t simple. The words were simple. The prayer was easy to remember. But the way her heart tugged and changed as she thought about her grandmothers, the way her breath hitched as she imagined them standing at the gates of Sto-vo-kor, that wasn’t so easy. Suddenly, she started to get it. 

“Kahless, we implore you to remember those warriors who have fallen in your name. Lift them out of the Cavern of Despair and reveal yourself to them in all your glory.” She paused to breathe and then realized Kejal was repeating the words. 

“In all your glory …” Kejal said in Bajoran. 

“Remember L'Naan, daughter of Krelik,” B’Elanna said, repeating her mother’s prayer. “Remember Paola, daughter of Mariella.” She took a breath, and the wave of the ritual passed through her and she could see the gates and the warrior women who had gone before standing guard, watching. “Remember L’Rell,” she murmured, “Mother of all.”   
They sat in silence, and B’Elanna watched the flame, realizing she wasn’t waiting for Kejal to start talking. They were just sitting, absorbing. Minutes passed, before Kejal let out a long, slow breath. “That’s amazing, B’Elanna. I had no idea that Klingons were so thoughtful.” 

“Thoughtful is not a word I’d ever use to describe us.” 

“Maybe,” Kejal said, “your people hide behind rage because it protects who you are. It keeps people from coming in and hurting you.” She shrugged. “Da says that the Bajorans were peaceful before the Cardassians came. We weren’t perfect. We had this caste system that kept people from progressing in society. And there was corruption. There always is. But, we were peaceful and we didn’t hide that. And then, the Cardassians came and they knew we were peaceful and now we don’t even have our homeworld. Maybe the Klingons had that happen to them a long time ago and so now, they celebrate being warriors so that no one will come and chase them away again.” 

B’Elanna stared at her friend. “I never thought of it like that.” 

“My faith is the most important thing to my people, and this prayer, it tells me how important faith is to your people, too. It’s what keeps us going. I don’t know anything about Kahless, but if he’s anything like our Prophets, he’s led your people in honor and you look to him for guidance.” 

“I tend to look to math and science for guidance.”

“My father says that the Prophets gave us math and science to help us understand the magic of the world they created.” 

B’Elanna smiled. “That’s … really cool.” She looked to the candle burning on the hearth. “I fight my mom a lot when she’s trying to teach me the rituals.” 

“If I were the only Bajoran on a planet of humans with a misplaced center-of-the-universe complex, I’d fight my father. So I get it.” She reached out and took B’Elanna’s hand. “But maybe, when your mom teaches you things, maybe you might try to listen sometimes. I’ll bet it will make the world make sense.” 

“I promise.” B’Elanna gestured to the candle. “Do you want to teach me the Death Chant?”

“Maybe later. That prayer was a lot.” Kejal said. 

“I’ve got ice cream in the freezer,” B’Elanna said, trying to lighten the mood a bit. “Fresh from Dolfin’s.” 

“What’s ice cream?”

“Oh my God.” B’Elanna jumped up and realized their hands were still linked. She didn’t let go. “It is so good. It’s fresh cream and sugar and it’s mixed together with different flavors. My favorite is ginger.” 

“This sounds amazing.” Kejal followed her into the kitchen and B’Elanna finally disconnected their hands to open the small freezer compartment to fish out the pint of ginger ice cream she’d bought on the way home from school. 

“I was going to eat this anyway, now we can share it.” She dug two spoons out and handed one to Kejal before prying off the lid. “Go on. First bite.” Kejal dug in and B’Elanna froze again, watching her close her eyes as her lips closed over the ice cream. She wanted to lean in, wanted to kiss her, wanted to take Kejal’s hand and press a kiss to her palm and maybe even bite just a little bit. But what if Kejal didn’t want that? What if she just wanted a friend? She’d even read there were cultures that didn’t allow people of the same gender to be together. What if Bajor was one of them? What if Kejal hadn’t reached physical maturity yet? What if … 

“B’Elanna?”

She shook her head and realized now that her mother had given her the talk about mating rituals after she’d come home, talking about her new friend at school. Well. Okay. So her mother realized her crush at any rate. 

“I’m sorry,” she blushed. “Tonight’s always weird for me.” 

“Do you want me to go? I mean, I’d really like to finish the ice cream. It’s so good. And you haven’t even had a bite yet.” Kejal’s green eyes were so big and their heads were so close and B’Elanna couldn’t help it. She leaned forward and kissed her friend and prayed as she did so that she wasn’t doing it wrong or that she wasn’t screwing up some Bajoran custom or that she was screwing up everything with her friend. 

Kejal didn’t kiss her back and B’Elanna jumped back. “I’m so sorry!” she said, seeing the look on her face. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

“You didn’t,” Kejal said, putting her hand on B’Elanna’s. The ice cream melted between them. “I like you, too. But the last time someone kissed me …” she shivered and B’Elanna felt the blood drain from her. “It was a group of new recruits outside of the camp and they grabbed me and my friend and dragged us into the trees and …” she shivered. “Girls on Bajor grow up really fast and it isn’t …” there were tears in her eyes. “I don’t want you to think I don’t like you. But that night was so scary for me. My best friend died, she fought back really hard and they hit her so hard on the head she died and then when they were done with me, they made me clean up her body and drag it back to camp.” 

These were the stories no one told them in their classes. B’Elanna gripped Kejal’s hand hard. “Kejal …”

“My name means freedom. Did you know that? My parents named me that because they believe my generation will see freedom from Cardassia. But we aren’t home, fighting. We had to run after the guards at camp hurt me. Because my father didn’t want them taking me off to one of their soldier camps.” 

B’Elanna lifted Kejal’s hand to her lips and kissed her palm, gently. “I’m so sorry they hurt you. I’m so sorry you had to run away from your home just to be safe.” 

“Thank you,” Kejal said. “But being here isn’t all bad. I got to meet you. And I got to have ice cream.” She chuckled and wiped her eyes. “I’m so sorry I ruined the kiss. But it scared me. I didn’t know I could like it when someone did that. I never thought I’d enjoy it ever but I did.” She looked at their hands. “And I liked it when you kissed my palm like that.” 

B’Elanna shivered. “I’ve never kissed anyone before. But, I’m scared to do it again.” 

“Why?”

“Klingons … we’re … rough.” B’Elanna blushed. “At least, that’s what I’ve been taught and what everyone seems to think. Even just kissing you, I could bite you.” 

“I don’t think I’d like that. Not yet.” Kejal dipped a spoon back into the ice cream and took another bite. “This is melting, and I think maybe I wouldn’t mind being kissed again. If I can kiss you back.” 

“I promise to try not to bite you.” 

“And we can stop whenever I want?”

B’Elanna nodded so hard she thought her head would pop off. “Of course.”

“Then …” Kejal linked their fingers again, “maybe you should have a bite of ice cream.” 

**Delta Quadrant, 2375**

They were floating. Of course they were floating. They’d been beamed into space and were holding onto each other with a cable between them and their natural inertia had them moving more than she was comfortable with. Also, she was a bit sick to her stomach. 

Tom, of course, wasn’t giving up. He never did. He also needed a reality check. “Paris to Voyager,” he said, again. “Do you read me? Please respond.” A breath. “Paris to Voyager.” 

She couldn’t take it anymore. “It’s no use,” she interrupted his perfectly by the book distress call. “The comm system in these units won’t carry that far.” 

“When they get the impulse engines repaired, they’ll come looking for us.” 

B’Elanna just blinked at him. He was still thinking of Voyager. She was trying to figure out any option to fix their situation. So what if Voyager really was the best one. “Well, I don’t plan on just drifting here, hoping somebody will come along and rescue us.” She sighed. “There must be something we can do.” 

“Agreed,” Tom said, and his voice was a bit more confident. He looked at her. “If we could interplex the comm systems in both suits we might be able to create a phased carrier wave. Voyager would read the signature and know it’s from us.” 

She only hated the plan because she hadn’t come up with it. “Good idea,” she said, nodding. “Let me access your controls.” 

He smirked at her as he tugged the cord that connected them, bringing her closer to him. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

She rolled her eyes. Here. Out in space. A breath away from death. Here he was flirting with her? If they got out of this, she was dragging him into her quarters, biting him, hard, and not letting him up until they were both sore and sated. Unless she killed him first. “That’s it,” she said as she came up to him again. Awkwardly, she turned so he was holding her close to his body and she had access to the control panel on his arm and if they weren’t floating out in the nothingness, it would be pretty romantic. But, they were floating in nothingness and Voyager had no idea what was going on right now. _Focus, B’Elanna._ “This would be a lot easier if I had a hyper-spanner.” She lifted his arm. “Hold still.” Carefully, she accessed his suit’s system, pressing controls that she could authorize in her sleep. 

Tom was still talking. Still flirting. “Why is it we have to get beamed into space in environmental suits before I can initiate first contact procedures?”

She wanted to remind him that just the other night, he’d been very much in contact with her. But, she also had pushed him away, had asked for more time, had yet again refused to define what they were doing with each other. For all he knew, she had the same kind of set up with Vorik. So, instead, she just pushed back. “Why is it that if we’re alone for more than thirty seconds, you start thinking about contact?” Maybe, her inner voice taunted her, because that’s all you think about lately. 

He groaned, but she wasn’t sure if it was because he was frustrated with her or because her movement had set them spinning. “That’s not fair,” he protested, “the other day in Engineering, I must have gone ... four minutes … before I started thinking about it.” 

She laughed, remembering that day in Engineering. She’d been the one thinking about contact procedures and he’d interrupted her train of thought with a tap on her shoulder and a very knowing look. Oh, she was ridiculous. But, she also had finished setting the carrier wave. “Okay …” she changed the subject. “I’m ready to initiate the carrier wave.” She hit the last panel and a high pitch rang through both of their suits, even though Tom was the one with it ringing in his ears. She winced for him as he screamed. “Sorry!” She tapped a couple of panels, adjusting the frequency. “Better?” He was breathing easier, so she took that for a yes. 

“Yeah.” He was still watching her. She couldn’t look at him. Not yet. She needed to collect herself. “Let’s hope it’s still that strong by the time it gets to Voyager.” 

B’Elanna took his words in and just shivered. Truthfully, she was terrified. Dying like this, out here, with no honor, beaten by bullies who had stolen her warp core? Yeah, that wasn’t getting her into Sto-vo-kor, and she wasn’t sure there was anyone left who would make a Plea for the Dead for her. But Tom’s arms were around her and she reveled in that comfort. Didn’t he get it? Didn’t he know how she really felt? _No,_ her voice taunted, _he can’t read your mind, you nitwit. You let him get close and then you push him away. Like today, in your quarters. He just wanted to help. He just wanted to find out why today sucks so hard for you._ She just wanted his arms around her. Forever. 

So, they floated. And floated. And floated. 

Finally, he let go of her, and she let the tether keep her close while she just tried to survive the tumble. Kahless only knew exactly where they were and how far from the ship they’d drifted. Even though the chronometer told her exactly how long it had been, it still felt longer. 

“This isn’t anything like the simulations we had at the Academy,” she finally said to break the silence. “They felt … peaceful … like floating in the womb…” why had she used that example? “But right now … I’m feeling a little sick to my stomach.” 

“You dropped out too soon,” Tom said. “In the third year, there’s a six-week course of actual space walks so you can get used to them.” 

She reached her hand out to touch him, glad he was still so close. “I never would have lasted till the third year. If I hadn’t dropped out, they would have asked me to leave.” Was that a touch of self-pity in her voice? Maybe. But this Day of Honor was, truly, the worst of all of them so far, and there was a good chance she was going to die. But, despite the whine in her voice, it was also true. She’d never fit anywhere, not until Voyager, and she still wasn’t sure she fit there either. 

He only laughed. “I wish I’d known you then.” 

Her stomachs clenched just a bit. She wished it too, actually. “You’d have hated me,” she deflected. Protecting herself. Did he really feel the same way she did? 

But Tom touched her, making sure she saw his eyes, making sure she heard him. “I can’t imagine a time I wouldn’t have found you fascinating.” Was he really in love with her? Or was he in love with the Klingon myth? The exotic one? Why couldn’t she just trust the look in his eye or how he touched her or the holoprograms they’d explored? Why couldn’t she just trust that maybe it wasn’t about where she fit in, but who she fit with? Why couldn’t she just tell him? 

Something raced past them, shaking them silly, and Tom blurred before her eyes. “What the hell was that?” he demanded.

B’Elanna checked the controls on her evac suit. “More ion turbulence,” she stated. Great. Now space really was trying to kill them. 

Tom checked a panel on his suit and suddenly, the voice of the computer chirped. “Warning. Oxygen level at 114 millibars.” 

He was gasping. “My oxygen supply is leaking!” 

The computer chirped again. “Oxygen level at 93 millibars.” 

He kept gasping. “We’ll have to share mine!” she said, terror gripping her. _Great, B’Elanna. Now he’s gonna die and leave you out here in space and you still won’t have been honest with him._ Working quickly, she linked her oxygen supply to his. “Are you getting air now?”

He groaned. “Yes. Much better. Thanks.” She couldn’t respond. Her suit had its own issues. “What’s wrong?” she heard him ask. 

“The turbulence must have damaged my suit, too,” she said, feeling everything just stop. “I should have at least twenty-four hours worth of oxygen. But there’s only about a half hour left.” She couldn’t breathe, but not for lack of air. Really, this was the worst Day of Honor ever and if it was some test from Kahless, she was going to have words for him if she made it to Sto-vo-kor. 

Time passed. Slowly. Their tether kept them close, and their legs were intertwined. “I’m lowering the oxygen ratio,” he said after a while. “That should give us a few more minutes.” 

She took a ragged breath. “I’m feeling … kind of groggy.” 

“Oxygen deprivation,” he said, needlessly. 

She rolled her eyes at him. “And you’re lowering it?” 

“We have to try to make it last as long as possible.” 

A part of her wanted to tell him to shut up, to stop using oxygen to talk, but she wanted to talk. She needed to hear his voice. She needed to know he was okay. She’d go first. She didn’t want to live without him, even if it was just for a minute or two. “It’s ironic, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Today …” she stared at a point into all of the years past, the years since leaving Boreth that she’d ignored her traditions, the day on Boreth when she’d stared into the time crystal, her first Day of Honor in the monastery, the night she’d kissed Kejal, the ritual on the homeworld, the night she’d run away, the night she’d stayed out in her treehouse rather than deal with her mother, the day her father left, the day abuela Paola died, the last time she’d had abuela’s banana pancakes, the Day of Honor she’d been sick, the day she’d ruined everything by getting back at the kids for making fun of her. All of those Days of Honor would culminate here, out in space, tethered to a man she was too scared to tell she loved. “... the Day of Honor …” she said out loud, realizing he was still waiting for her to talk, “is the day that I’m going to die.” 

“We are not going to die!” Tom said, and she felt his hands grip hers harder, but she’d accepted the reality a while ago. “Would you stop talking like that?”

“We have to face up to it, Tom,” B’Elanna said. She hated this. 

Tom didn’t fight her. Instead, he just took her verbal slap to the face and met her eyes again. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” he said. 

“Well,” she almost smiled, “now’s the time.” 

“When we first met … you didn’t have a very high opinion of me.” It wasn’t a question. He knew as well as she did how she’d felt at first. 

“That’s putting it mildly,” she intoned. Some flyboy mercenary out to get whatever he wanted, a traitor to Starfleet, the Federation, and he couldn’t even hack it in the maquis. Taking whatever deal got him out of prison. She knew better now, but then, she’d had her feelings. “I thought you were an arrogant, self-absorbed pig.” And that was the nicest thing she could say about him at the time. 

He laughed. “Flattery won’t get you any more oxygen.” She smiled at him and the look in his eyes made her want to just touch him in ways that the vacuum of space wouldn’t allow. “Do you think I’ve changed?” He asked. 

She wanted to tell him that he hadn’t needed to change, that she’d realized quickly who he was and had just been hiding under the facade he put up. He was just like her in that way, walking around with shields at maximum, hoping that all of the phaser fire of life just bounced off. But, he had changed as well. He’d changed around her. Shields were only at 20% with her, and that always made her lower hers as well. Still, as she spoke, she hid. Even moments before death, it was easier to keep him at arm’s length. “A lot,” she said, the teasing coming into her voice. “Now you’re a stubborn, domineering pig.” If he didn’t react when she said it, she winced. How dare she do that to him? To them? After all they’d shared over the last few months. After how wonderful he’d been on Sakari. If she wanted to take all of her honor and trash it on today of all days, she was doing a damn good job of it. It wasn’t like they were going to survive this. It wasn’t like she’d have to lower her shields. For once in her damn life, she could be honest with her feelings. She looked back at him and her heart broke at the look on his face. 

“I’m just kidding.” For once in your life, B’Elanna … be honest. “There I go again … just pushing you away.” She looked away, unable to stand the look in his eyes. “You were right about me. It’s what I do … push people away.”

“Well, it’s a surefire way of not getting hurt,” he replied, his voice so damned compassionate that she just wanted to cry. But they didn’t have the oxygen to cry. Hell, they didn’t have the oxygen to be having this conversation but it was too late for that. 

No. It wasn’t a surefire way of not getting hurt. It was a surefire way of keeping herself hurt so that she could blame the world for her pain rather than just own up to herself. “What a coward I am,” she said, and meant it. 

The interrogator flashed before her eyes, asking her what enemies she’d slain this year. She hadn’t been able to answer because it took being on the brink of death to accept that she was her own enemy, and what she thought was courage and strength, claiming her own independence at the sake of everyone else, was truly the worst kind of cowardice. Her mother had walked away from everyone who loved her, her people, her homeworld, her rituals, all on the risk that John Torres might love her. B’Elanna couldn’t even bring herself to be honest with a guy she lived six decks down from. For all of her questions, all of her issues, all of the feelings tucked behind her all-too shielded walls, in her last breath she could at least be honest with Tom Paris. 

Tom only soothed her. Of course he did. ‘Shhhh,” he murmured. And he leaned forward and put his shielded face against hers and all she wanted to do was touch him one last time. To tell him how she’d felt when they were in each other’s arms the other night. To confess how much she appreciated the Day of Honor program. This wasn’t fair and it was her own doing. She could have allowed herself this little bit of happiness so much sooner. He embraced her and she hung on tight and if they were going to die, it was going to be in each other’s arms. 

Slowly, time passed. She wasn’t sure how much. It didn’t matter anymore. 

“Warning,” the computer intoned, “oxygen level at 104 millibars.” 

This was it. 

“Tom …” B’Elanna pulled back from his embrace. She had to tell him. She had to do one thing right in her miserable life. Just one thing. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Come on,” she pushed him. “Open your eyes!” 

He gasped. 

“Warning,” the computer said, emotionless and cold, “oxygen level at eighty-seven millibars.” 

“I was having a dream,” he murmured. 

“There’s something I have to say,” B’Elanna said. Now or never. Death was here. Knocking. Would she get into Sto-vo-kor if she wasn’t sure she believed in it?

“Me too,” he gasped out. “I’m glad the last thing I’ll see is you.” 

If her heart was cracked before, it shattered. “I’ve been a coward about everything,” she said, keeping her eyes locked with his. “Everything that really matters.” 

“No, you’re being a little hard on yourself.” Why was he so damn perfect? 

“No. I’m going to die … without a shred of honor. And for the first time in my life, that really bothers me.” A small, still rational part of her shouted that she’d done the right thing, she’d joined the maquis, she’d gone off to protect people in need. But the truth was, she’d spent her whole time there wanting to take Kreshi and go to Bajor. She’d run from Starfleet, from her mother, from Boreth. She’d lived her life in fear of her father’s abandonment and her mother’s rituals. Where, in all of her life, had she ever done anything truly because it was right and not because she was running? 

She wasn’t going to run. In her moment of death, she’d at least do one thing right. “So I have to tell you something.” 

The computer interrupted her. “Warning: oxygen level at seventy-one millibars.” 

“I have to tell you the truth.” She was barely holding on to consciousness. She wasn’t sure if Tom could even hear her. But she had to do it. 

“The truth about what?” 

Okay, so he could hear her. He sounded so pained, so ragged. He sounded like he was just ready to close his eyes and die and she couldn’t let that happen without this last confession. 

For a moment, she stopped breathing, but not because of the oxygen. “I …” she steeled herself, willing herself for just a moment to feel the pain and the joy and the tenderness she knew came with being in love. Because she’d loved Kreshi. She’d even loved Kejal, if teenagers could be in love. She knew what it meant to risk, to hurt, to pray for one more moment with someone, and she’d felt this way about Tom for longer than even she could comprehend. “I love you,” she said, her gloved hand on his face shield. He just stared at her. “Say something,” she begged. Not just because she was worried he was delirious, but because she needed some kind of a response. 

“You picked a great time to tell me,” he came back. Well, she deserved that. But he didn’t say anything else. He just moved his hands against her face shield and to hold her and if this was it, it was it because the air was gone and she was so lightheaded and maybe if they were lucky Voyager would at least grant them the honor of being sent into space properly. Her last seconds were being spent in Tom’s arms. She could handle that. She’d deal with Sto-vo-kor later. 

The last thing she remembered was putting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.


	11. 11.

**Boreth, 2364**

Six months. Six long, rotten, lonely months. She’d been dropped with all the pomp and circumstance that Klingons loved to show, been handed off by her mother into the waiting hands of nuns, and left to rot. Okay, so her mother sent weekly letters and the nuns actually weren’t that bad, and she kind of liked the monks, but to go from Kessick IV to Boreth was like being dropped from a freezing cold mountain top into a boiling hot tub and she still couldn’t breathe sometimes. 

But today, as she and the other students had been told for weeks, was the Day of Honor. Time was weird here, really. It didn’t feel like six months had passed, but it had, and she didn’t feel any older but she felt completely grown. Her mind raced with scientific concepts she clearly grasped but didn’t quite understand all the while the basic concepts of honor and ritual escaped her. What did it matter? Why wasn’t glory and honor different for everyone? 

They’d been excused early from classes to go prepare for the ritual. Standing in her cell, looking at her reflection in the barely usable mirror, B’Elanna smoothed her green gown down over her body. It had been a gift from her mother, for today. Across the bodice she also wore a golden sash with her family crest, a flaming phoenix clutching a mek’leth in one talon and a pen in the other. We fight beyond weapons, her mother’s note read, we are more than the house of men. Our glory is in our hearts. She donned the matching ridge jewelry, smoothed her impossible hair, and stepped out into the corridor with the other students, all of them heading down to their interrogator. 

She didn’t like it. She wanted to celebrate her honor and her power, but it didn’t feel right. She didn’t feel right. What was she going to tell them? That she hadn’t run away? That she hadn’t killed K’Vor when he’d tried to bite her? All of the students were excited, running and jostling to be the first in line to face their inquisitor, but B’Elanna hung back and as they reached the entrance to the caverns, she turned left while the rest of them turned right. 

Her first week here, she’d explored these caves. They were different from the ones on the other side of the monastery. Crystalline and blue and humming with an energy she’d only felt around dilithium. She was calmer here. If the nuns and monks knew she wandered here, they didn’t stop her, and she was glad for that. Tonight, they’d all be busy. 

Trailing her fingers along the walls, B’Elanna made her way down the familiar paths, letting her mind find escape in warp patterns and energy matrices. She didn’t need to wield a bat’leth to understand the physics behind why it worked. Her world was the stars and how they all fit together and outdated concepts of honor just seemed silly. So, she walked. Here, more than anywhere else, she was comfortable. 

The paths in the caverns were well worn, clearly still used, and tonight she didn’t stop at her usual break in the rocks. She kept going, moving up, up, until she emerged into a side of the monastery she’d never seen before. The cave gave way to a long, thin bridge that fell into oblivion on either side. Across the chasm, the rocks glowed and hummed. 

Where the hell was she? 

In the middle of the bridge, a man stood, shrouded in his robes. B’Elanna gauged the safety of the bridge and suddenly wondered if her test of honor was going to be to beat this guy or fall to her death. Great. She stayed put, but didn’t turn away either. She could tell that under his hood, the man was staring at her, and so, she stared back. 

“B’Elanna Torres, daughter of Miral,” the man said. His voice was thick, an accent she couldn’t quite place. But his tone was timeless and it terrified her. “Daughter of the House of the Mother.” What the hell did that mean? He stepped forward, moving so quickly she could have sworn an oath that he flew, and was before her, the hood down around his shoulders. 

The Klingon’s skin was so pale it was blue and his white hair flowed around his shoulders. In an instant he looked young and ethereal and yet old and withered at the same time. She trembled, wondering why he felt so familiar and why she wanted to run all at the same time. But he didn’t touch her. He didn’t challenge her to fight. He only stood there, his hands clasped together, an eyebrow raised. 

“I am Tenavik,” he said. “I keep this part of the monastery.” A pause. “You do not choose to drink from the well of glory tonight?”

“It isn’t my well to drink from,” B’Elanna said, her voice shaking. “I think the rituals …” she took a breath. “I think this is silly.”

“Do you know why we celebrate this day, B’Elanna?”

“Of course! It’s all you drill into me!”

He didn’t move. He didn’t grab her. He only repeated himself. “Do you know why we celebrate this day?”

She didn’t have a snappy comeback. So she stood perfectly still. At least she was sure he wasn’t going to throw her off the bridge. 

“Do you know why we celebrate this day?” 

“Because Kahless --”

“Kahless means nothing if you do not believe in him!” Tenavik’s voice echoed through the cave. “If you run from your history, from your people, then this will be silly and you will be without honor.” The echoes died and B’Elanna realized she was crying. “L’Rell did not give up her soul for you to be without honor. She did not follow the glory of T'Kuvma for you to be without honor. She did not lose her son for you to be without honor.” He still did not move and she held her ground. Long minutes ticked by. 

“What is this side of the cave?” she asked Tenavik, rather than face his direct comment about her always running away from things. His smirk told her she hadn’t gotten away with it. 

“You are not ready, B’Elanna. You are meant to be here. You will come across this bridge and you will face the crystals and you will know the fate. But you are not yet ready.” What the hell did that mean? There was a motion and B’Elanna spun, her hand on the mek’leth at her waist, only to see one of the nuns standing behind her. “Go with Relvi. Go to the feast. Tell them of your glory here, on this bridge.”

“I had a conversation with you.”

“And I did not throw you to the abyss below,” Tenavik replied. “You are not yet ready for this challenge.” His tone softened and he touched her cheek with one long, pale finger. “Like your mother, and the women of your line before you, you often leap up the ladder, wanting there to be more, when the easiest answer to what is the hardest question is right before you. The questions you have will be answered, B’Elanna, daughter of Miral. But not tonight.” 

Tenavik turned and stalked across the bridge and B’Elanna watched a door open and close behind him and inside, she swore she could hear a hum that sounded like a song. 

“Come, B’Elanna,” Relvi said. 

She turned to the old nun. “What just happened?”

“Come back to the feast. This was only your first step.” 

“What do you mean?” B’Elanna stepped back from the nun but realized the bridge was suddenly far more dilapidated than she realized. A trick of the light? Either way, she didn’t feel safe. What would happen if she did run though? If she chased Tenavik and pounded on the door and demanded answers? 

“You will learn in time. Tenavik will show you.” The woman stepped back into the caverns. “Come back to the feast.” 

Confused, but too scared to fight, B’Elanna followed, but her mind remained at the edge of the path. 

**USS Voyager  
Delta Quadrant, 2375**

With a grunt and a groan, B’Elanna sat up and hissed breath into her barely working lungs. Her eyes focused slowly, coming to rest first on the Doctor and then on the Captain, who was standing between the biobeds, and then on Tom who was still lying flat. But the vital readouts over his head proved to her that at least he was alive. Great. Well, hopefully he’d missed her confession, or at least wouldn’t remember it. Not like he hadn’t tried to pull her into his arms or somehow kiss her through the evac suit helmet. God, if she remembered everything, he would too. 

“Welcome back,” the Captain said. “I’m sorry your salvage mission didn’t work out the way we planned, but we did get the core and it’s being repaired and all is right with the world.” There was a tenderness in Janeway’s voice that reminded B’Elanna of her mother. 

“Ouch.” B’Elanna flopped back onto the biobed. “Thanks for coming to save us.” 

“Couldn’t leave my best engineer out there to suffocate now, could I?” Janeway’s voice was light, if tired. There was obviously a lot of work to do. 

“When can I get out of here?” B’Elanna directed her question to the doctor. “My engine core needs repairing.” 

“Technically,” the Doctor said, “you’re free to go.” His tone bordered on that lecture he always gave the crew when they wanted to go live their lives outside of sickbay. “Your lungs are working just fine and you didn’t suffer any damage from the lack of oxygen.” 

“Then why is Tom still asleep?” She stared at the object of her affection, her eyes again going to the biobed readouts. 

“Because like it or not, Klingons are just made of hardier stuff than humans. Once he regains consciousness, he too will be free to go. However, I wouldn’t mind keeping you here another few --”

“If I collapse, you know where to find me,” B’Elanna cut him off and jumped from the bed. There was no way in hell she was going to be around when Tom woke up. If she busied herself with engine repair for the next week, hopefully he’d just move on and they wouldn’t have to face up to her deathbed confession. Kahless and Christ, she was such a coward. “Captain, give me ten minutes and I’ll be in engineering.” 

For a moment, Janeway looked like she wanted to argue. But she didn’t. She just nodded. “Get us moving again, Lieutenant. I’ve sent Chakotay out on a survey mission for anything that will help keep the engines running. Go do your thing.” 

B’Elanna nodded and took off and if Janeway wondered why she was running, she just hoped that the Captain chalked it up to her wanting to get to work. It had nothing at all to do with her noticing Tom starting to stir and his big blue eyes meeting hers. Nope. Nothing at all. 

She had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "not a sparrow," tess gallagher
> 
> Just when I think the Buddhists  
> are wrong and life is not mostly suffering,  
> I find a dead finch near the feeder.  
> How sullen, how free of regret, this death  
> that sinks worlds. I bury her near  
> the bicycle shed and return to care for  
> my aged mother, whose suffering  
> is such oxygen we do not consider it,  
> meaning life at any point exceeds  
> the price. A little more. A little more.
> 
> That same afternoon, having restored balance,  
> I discover a junco fallen on its back, beak  
> to air, rain pelting the prospect. Does  
> my feeder tempt flight through windows?  
> And, despite evidence, do some  
> accomplish it?
> 
> Digging a hole for the second bird, I find  
> the first gone. If I don’t think “raccoons”  
> or “dogs,” I can have a quiet, unwitnessed  
> miracle. Not a feather remains.  
> In goes the junco. I swipe earth over it,  
> set a pot on top. Time  
> to admit the limitations of death as  
> admonition.
> 
> Still, two dead birds in an afternoon  
> lets strange sky into the mind: birds flying  
> through windows, flying through  
> earth. Suffering must be like that too: equipped  
> with inexplicable escapes where the mind  
> watches the hand level dirt over the emptied grave  
> and, overpowered by the idea of wings,  
> keeps right on flying.


End file.
